For the Sins of Their Fathers
by CrepuscularSnidget
Summary: The story of the first Quarter Quell Disclaimer-I do not own the Hunger Games
1. Prologue

_The people of the Capitol wait with bated breath. The president's long fingers snake into the box that holds the twist for the first Quarter Quell. Carefully, he draws the slip of paper out and reads the words, nodding his head. No one can move, they just wait and watch._

_The president slides his chair back and the people startle at the sound. He strides to the microphone, taps it once, and then speaks._

"_As a reminder that it was the Districts who instigated the Rebellion against the Capitol, every man, woman, and child over the age of 12 will be required to vote for the tributes to be sent to the Capitol." The president pauses and stares out at the crowd. Most citizens of the Capitol are wearing feral grins. "You have one day," he finishes silkily._

_In the districts the people gasp and clutch at one another. This is the worst, to be forced to betray two of their own. But others in the districts realize who will be chosen. Not the innocent who are reaped every year, but the outcasts. The criminals. The worthless. The unwanted. The despised. The feared. The people line up, grasping pencils so hard they leave red marks on their skin. They scrawl names of the ones they hate. The escorts, with their outlandish costumes and plastic smiles, note down the names of the unlucky ones._

_By dawn of reaping day, there are twenty-four winners._


	2. Chapter 1

Atticus was awoken by the beam of sunlight that fell across his face. He leaned back and stretched, basking in the warmth. He could smell a faint salty tang from the sea and the stronger smell of breakfast. Atticus pulled himself out of bed and dressed himself in the reaping day clothes Mollusk had laid out for him. A fine linen shirt and a new pair of dark blue trousers. He checked himself in the mirror, flattening down his reddish brown hair. Same old face. He was fourteen, but with his ears sticking out and the freckles spattered across his face, he looked younger. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he reminded himself that in a few short hours, reaping day would be over.

In the kitchen, Millie had prepared hash browns and sausage. She slid a plate in front of Atticus, and he grinned up at her. "This looks great, Millie." Millie only grunted, turning back to the stove. Shrugging his shoulders, Atticus dug in and mopped up every last bit of grease.

"Atticus?" It was Mollusk, standing awkwardly at the entrance to the kitchen. "Your father sent me. It's time to go." Atticus started to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but thought better of it and used the napkin instead. He shoved his chair back, wincing at the noise it made. Mollusk bobbed back and forth on the balls of his feet. Atticus frowned. For as long as he had been a servant here, Mollusk had always been fidgety, but this seemed like something else. He had no reason to be nervous for reaping day; he was twenty-five years old. "Atticus? We really do have to go now." Atticus shook the thoughts from his brain and followed Mollusk out. Millie still didn't look at him.

In the square, all the children from District 4 were lined up. Atticus took his place with the other boys his age and stared up at the figures on the stage. There was Augustus Whiteshine, the escort, wearing a bright gold wig for the occasion. Thomas Thistledare lurked beside him, taking up more than his fair share of the stage with his large muscles. He had won the games thirteen years ago. Next to him, Mags, the victor of the ninth Hunger Games, bounced on her toes. And next to all of them was his father, Mayor Maris. Atticus tried to catch his father's eye, but he wasn't looking.

Augustus strode to the microphone and tapped it for order. "Welcome, citizens of District 4, to the Twenty-fifth Annual Hunger Games and our first ever Quarter Quell! You know the rules, you submitted your votes, but before we see who the lucky tributes are, let's see the history of the illustrious Hunger Games!" There was a weak smattering of applause and then the movie flickered on.

Atticus squinched his eyes shut at the more violent parts of the past Games, but he couldn't block out the announcer's voice. Finally, the movie fizzled out and Augustus flashed a cheesy grin towards the audience. Atticus saw that his teeth were capped with gold.

"Shall we see who the tributes you have chosen are?" he asked. There were no glass bowls this time, just a small envelope a Peacekeeper handed to him. Augustus opened the envelope, a difficult task with three inch nails, and pulled out the names.

Atticus felt blood roaring in his ears. Last night he had scribbled down the names his father had told him too. Two derelicts, drains on society. Augustus cleared his throat.

"The female tribute is Adriana Harbinger!"

A strangled scream pierced the air. An old woman pushed her way through the crowd. "I curse you!" she screeched. "You choose her because you mistrust me! What has she done to you? I curse you! May your children be ripped from you for fifty more years! May they die and curse you with their last breath, for bringing them into this world! You smug hypocrites! May you burn forever!"

The crowd rumbled with whispers. "Witch." "She's mad." "I hope that brat of hers dies."

Two Peacekeepers pushed their way over to the old woman. She peered up at them through her filmy eyes. "I said my piece. I'm done."

Atticus's heart hammered as the Peacekeepers pushed the girl up onto the stage. He knew her. Not well, of course. She was a couple of years older, and besides, he had private tutors so he didn't have to go to the school the other children went to.

"How old are you, dearie?" Augustus Whiteshine thrust the microphone in her face. The girl threw her dark curly hair back. "I'm sixteen," she said roughly. "And was that…woman…your grandmother?" Adriana narrowed her eyes. "Aye, she is." Augustus nodded. "Anything you would like to say to District 4?" Adriana leaned forward and grabbed the microphone. "Oh, there's plenty I'd like to say. You put me in here 'cause I'm not like you. You've always hated the witch's granddaughter and now you're making that crystal clear. If I win, you're not getting anything. I'll watch you starve. And next year, do you think I'm going to help any of your children win?" She laughed harshly. "I don't think so."

Augustus wrinkled his brow and pulled the next slip of paper from the envelope.

"Citizens of District 4, you have chosen your male tribute to be Atticus Maris!"

Atticus's knees shook as if he was standing on a boat in a storm. All eyes snapped to him, and all he could think was, _You put me there. Why? What did I do? _Two Peacekeepers started for him, and he untangled himself from the crowd. Atticus felt their eyes marking him as he began the painful journey to the stage. He climbed up, each step like a perilously tall cliff. His father had his head buried in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. Adriana didn't look at him.

"Atticus! How do you feel as the male tribute of District 4?"

This couldn't be right. Why were there no careers? It was almost as if they had _planned _this. As if everyone knew. Suddenly, Millie and Mollusk's behavior that morning made sense. They knew and they pitied him.

"Atticus?"

Did they want a speech like Adriana's? He didn't think he could do that. So he leaned into the microphone.

"I'm …" What was he supposed to say? "I'm nervous. But I'll try to bring honor to District 4." He sat back on his heels, willing his hands to stop shaking. A slow applause sounded through the crowd. Thomas and Mags and Augustus were speaking but Atticus couldn't hear. Then it was his father, grabbing him by his shoulders. This startled Atticus out of his haze. Ever since his mother died seven years ago, the mayor had barely talked to him, throwing himself into his work.

"Atticus, look at me. It's my fault, all my fault. They picked you to get back at me. Atticus, I'm so sorry."

His father's eyes were the same shade of blue as his own, Atticus registered dully. Then his father pulled him into a tight embrace, and they stayed there, until the Peacekeepers took Atticus away.


	3. Chapter 2

Atticus stared up in his father's eyes. He trusted him. Even after his mother died. Especially after his mother died. His father was the only person he had. So why was he in the Hunger Games?

"Atticus."

Atticus stared at the peeling gray walls. The air was thick and humid. His skin felt hot and itchy. He wasn't sure if it was because his days were numbered.

"District 4…they don't like me, Atticus."

That seemed so simplistic. Like they were five years old. I don't like you so I'll kick you in the shins and throw your lunch in the mud and send your son to the Hunger Games.

"Atticus, they hate me because I'm the mayor and I'm tied to the Capitol, so they blame me for their children's deaths."

Atticus found his voice buried in the back of his throat. "That isn't fair. I didn't do anything. And you didn't do anything either. You were born to be mayor."

His father sighed, a harsh terrain of wrinkles etched across his face. "The children didn't do anything either, Atticus. It was their parents and grandparents that rebelled. But we must all pay the price."

Atticus dug his nails into the peeling paint. "I don't want to die." He tried desperately to force the tears back, but they came.

His father pressed him to his chest. "I'll do everything I can. I'll send money, find sponsors. Just try, Atticus. You're smart. You're fast. Remember, sometimes the victors are the ones who avoid the battles. They know when they need to fight. There is no shame in running, not if it means you can fight another day. Remember that. You're not a Career, but you can win."

Winning seemed like an impossible dream, too far to reach. His father kept him crushed to his chest until the Peacekeepers came.

"Don't forget what I said," the mayor called. "I love you, Atticus. And…I know your mother does too."

Atticus curled up on himself, as if that could ease the pain. Then there was another knock at the door and he straightened. Mollusk and Millie stood there.

"I'm sorry, Atticus," Mollusk said, shaking his head. "Whatever your father did, you don't deserve this."

"Thanks," Atticus muttered.

"Atticus, I brought you this. I thought you might need a token." Millie dug into her apron pocket and stretched out her arm. In her thick and calloused hand she held a smooth blue object the color of his father's eyes. And his own eyes. Atticus carefully took it from her and fingered the object.

"It's a piece of sea glass, worn smooth from the sea. Not much use as a weapon, but""—she shrugged her broad shoulders—"it might remind you of home." A few pieces of gray hair were escaping from her bun.

"Thank you," Atticus said sincerely. He didn't know that the servants had actually cared for him.

"We better go," Mollusk said awkwardly. "Try and win, though, Atticus. You always were a smart kid."

Atticus didn't know what to do when the door slammed shut behind him with an awful finality. He stared at the sea glass for awhile, watching how it caught the light. Then he put it down and took his glasses off, wondering how he would fare without them if they were broken in the arena. The world blurred around him, everything smudged as if he were viewing it through a foggy glass. He better make sure he wasn't separated from his glasses then. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Next, Atticus lay down on the floor, trying not to breathe in too deeply. He was scrawny, definitely not victor material. He only had a few days until the Game and there was no way he could bulk up in time, but it wouldn't hurt to do _something._

Atticus gritted his teeth and began doing sit ups, focusing on the pain until he couldn't feel anything else.


	4. Chapter 3

Atticus stared out the window and watched until District 4 was no more than smears in the distance. He swallowed the lump in his throat. From his limited experience of the Hunger Games, he knew that victors were not weepy. They were tough, single-minded in their devotion to win. Thomas Thistledare fit this profile perfectly, but Atticus wasn't sure what to make of Mags.

"They want to talk to us now."

It was Adriana, one hand on her hip, glaring at him from beneath her hair.

"Alright." Atticus nervously flattened his own hair and followed her. Thomas and Mags were sitting at a fine stainless steel table. Augustus Whiteshine bounced behind them. Adriana slouched down into a cotton-candy colored chair and Atticus perched on a stool colored in a sickly shade of green.

"There's no point in wasting words," Mags said. Her eyes bored into each of their faces in turn. "You were put in here by people who expect this to be a death sentence. It isn't fair, but then nothing is. So you have a choice: Try to win or whine about it until someone kills you."

Atticus liked Mags.

"They call me the witch's brat." Adriana's eyes flashed a dangerous shade of gray. "My grandma didn't do nothing and I didn't either. And I don't know what they have against _this _one because he couldn't hurt a fly."

Atticus tried to sink into his seat.

"We stick to our own," Mags said calmly. "Your grandma is an outsider. And him" –her gaze swiveled to Atticus—"his father's the mayor. He's been pretty isolated from the town."

Thomas coughed and Mags stuck her bony elbow into his side.

"We need to plan your strategy!" Augustus enthused. "Your angles! We need sponsors!"

"That can wait," Mags said. "First you need to see the Hunger Games as tributes. We'll watch the very first Games."

Atticus had seen the Games every year, of course. Last year, the tribute from District 2 snapped. In just two days, he hunted down every single tribute. It was the shortest Games ever. Atticus hoped no one like that would be like that in his Games. The year before that, the Games were in a desert, and thirst took most of the tributes until a clever girl from District 7 figured out there was water in the rocks. She didn't share this information and was able to outlast the other tributes. No one from District 4 had won since Mags in the 9th Games. District 4 used to train Careers, but now, suffering from a drought, they were forced to spend all of their attention on finding food.

Mags popped the disk into the movie screen and stood back as it flickered to life.

"_Welcome, citizens of Panem, to the very first Hunger Games! Presenting our tributes…"_

So this was how it all began. Atticus watched, dumbstruck, as the twenty-four tributes were paraded to the Capitol, and the interviews were conducted for the very first time. Most of the tributes had no idea what was going on. Atticus wondered if they thought the Capitol wouldn't really force them to fight to the death or if the tributes could band together and resist. But when they got to the arena, it became very clear that they were expected to kill each other.

The arena was the remains of a ruined city. In the Cornucopia were food and supplies. And weapons—swords glinting sinisterly, bows lying there tauntingly, maces tossed in a pile. The Games took ten days. A girl from District 2 won, fifteen years old, after tossing the District 8 tribute off a building. The cameras zoomed in on the ruined body. All the Districts knew that the Capitol was taking the Games very seriously.

Mags switched the tape off and looked over at Adriana and Atticus. "Well?"

Atticus didn't know what to say. Adriana tossed her hair back. "You have to be ruthless to win. And you have to expect the other tributes to be just as ruthless."

"Let's watch this," Mags said, sliding in the next disk. It was the fourteenth Hunger Games, played out in a swamp. The tribute who won was not the biggest or the fastest or the strongest. It was a thirteen year old girl from District 7 who outsmarted the others. She dropped down on one tribute from a tree and was able to slit his throat before he could scream. She set traps in the swamp and found the areas where there was quicksand. She stayed in the trees to avoid the terrible crocodile muttations.

"Now what?"

"Use the arena to your advantage. Stay out of the way to stay alive," Adriana recited.

"Now this." Mags slid in the third Hunger Games. The sun set as Atticus watched the dizzying displays of bloodshed. The victor was a smooth-talking boy from District 1 who charmed the audience and turned the tributes against each other. Mags raised her eyebrows.

"Be smart," Adriana said. "And don't trust anyone."

Mags pushed in the next one. Atticus started as he saw it was the ninth Hunger Games, the Games that Mags won.

Mags was fourteen years old and wore her dark hair cropped closely to her head. In her interviews, she was strong and determined. She earned a score of 9 and in the bloodbath escaped with a knife and the Career pack. The arena was a forest with dizzyingly tall pine trees. Pine needles muffled the steps of approaching tributes and the branches provided shelter to resourceful tributes. Mags used her knife to make wickedly sharp fishhooks to snare unwary tributes. She stuck with the Careers for four days and then left. But what the three other Careers didn't know was that she had left a trap. A net studded with hooks dropped down upon them when they were chasing the District 3 female. Mags let them stay there until the District 7 tribute finished them off. Then Mags stalked the forest with uncanny precision, hunting the other tributes. It culminated in a battle in a pine tree with the District 7 male. Finally, she threw her knife in his eye. He fell, screaming in agony.

Mags looked at them calmly. Sixteen years later, she was as lethal as ever. Her dark hair was scooped up in a bun and her eyes stared them down. Adriana didn't say anything.

Atticus swallowed. "Do whatever you have to in order to win."


	5. Chapter 4

Too soon, the train arrived at the Capitol. A kaleidoscope of people in garish outfits and exotic makeup gawked at the sides, waving to the tributes. Adriana slumped down in her seat, but Atticus padded to the window. He'd never seen so many bright colors all in one place. The people were waving and screaming with glee. Atticus tentatively raised his hand and waved once. The crowd laughed with delight. No one had ever been this happy to see him before.

Then the buildings of the Capitol sprawled out before him. Huge, gleaming skyscrapers and glittering shops. Atticus could hardly believe the wealth compacted into one city. Among the citizens of District 4, he and his father were considered well off, with a large house, servants, and a private tutor for Atticus. But here… affluence oozed from every citizen.

"They're happy to see you now, but a few days later, they'll be laughing at your death." Adriana glanced derisively out the window. "I say, screw 'em."

Atticus lowered his hand and stared at it as if it was an alien being. His throat had closed up. Adriana was right.

Their chambers were magnificent, of course. Thick, gilded blankets sprawled on top of a four-posted bed. The carpet was as lush as fresh grass and all the furniture was made of fine oak. All this for a boy who would be dead in two weeks. They served them fine food, broiled scallops, roasted octopus, grilled shrimp, but Atticus couldn't help but think of a pig being fattened for the slaughter. He kept up his daily ritual of fifty sit-ups and twenty-five push-ups and thought he saw a bit of progress. That was something.

Mags, Augustus, and Thomas wanted to discuss their angles. Or more like just Mags and Augustus. Thomas just glowered in the background.

"Every tribute has an angle. It's absolutely _vital _for getting sponsors. We need something…_snappy _for you two. Especially since it's the _very first_ Quarter Quell." Augustus beamed at Atticus and Adriana. Adriana scowled at him, but Atticus wasn't sure what to think.

Mags smiled reassuringly. "I was the hard-worker. Focused on my goal, clever, and talented. It impressed a few rich folks in the Capitol, especially after they saw my work." When Thomas didn't say anything, Mags added, "Thomas was the strong, silent protector of his family. Bit of an underdog, but the Capitol loves underdogs."

"I am _not _having an angle," Adriana spat. "I don't need the support of a bunch of rich idiots."

Mags leveled her gaze on Adriana. "When you've run out of food or water in the arena, you'll think otherwise."

Augustus cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"

They decided on smart for Atticus. They worked on him being calm and focused. After a while, Atticus could block everything out, including his impending death, and focus on his new persona. He pretended that this was a different person. A clever, talented boy from District 4, who was in control and knew he could win. A Career, even. After a while, they pronounced him ready and shipped him off to his stylists.

"Darling! SO glad to meet you!" A tiny woman with pink hair bobbed up and shook his hand enthusiastically. "I'm Xenia. You must be thrilled that your District elected you as tribute!" Atticus bobbed his head feebly. "Wonderful! Let's go!"

He was forced into a hard plastic chair while the prep team twittered around him. When he stumbled out of his seat an eternity later, his hair had been trimmed so it wasn't scattered around his face, his freckles had been covered up by makeup, and his trusty copper-framed glasses had been replaced by thicker, black rimmed spectacles. He looked…different. And bewildered.

Xenia beamed. "You look so smart!" she trilled, clasping her hands together. "It was a _pleasure _to meet you, Atticus! I'm already designing your interview costume!" She and her assistants disappeared in a wave of glitter.

Training started the next day. Adriana refused to respond to Atticus' tentative attempts at conversation. Mags and Thomas escorted them into the training room. The trainer was a heavily scarred young man. "Twelfth victor," Mags whispered. Atticus gulped. The other tributes lined up, forming a formidable half-circle around the young man. They all seemed so much bigger than him. He heard that the District 1 and 2 tributes actually _campaigned _for the honor. That was incomprehensible.

Mags had instructed them to try everything offered, so Atticus followed Adriana around to the different stations. She gave a snort of annoyance when she saw him but didn't say anything. Atticus managed to tie his hands together at the knot-making station, almost impaled the District 3 tribute at the spear station, nearly cut his finger off at the knife-sharpening station, and burned himself at the fire building station. He didn't notice how Adriana did. He did see the Careers sneering at him. They knew District 4 had slipped from their position as a Career district.

The next day, Mags followed Atticus around. Patiently, she instructed him on tying knots until he could form a decent one with barely any thought. Then she calmly explained how not to kill himself while making a fire. Atticus, bolstered by her encouragement, set himself to memorizing what plants would kill him and what plants could be used as medicine. He felt slightly better at the end of the day.

Mags helped Atticus learn how to wield a knife the next day. Her calloused fingers gripped his wrist as she demonstrated the correct technique for throwing a knife. By the end of the day, he had blisters on his fingers, but his fighting skill had improved. Thomas had been helping Adriana. He wouldn't look in Atticus' direction. Atticus was too scared to ask Mags about it, though. He knew the Games could do terrible things to tributes and he had no idea what Thomas had survived to make him the way he was.


	6. Chapter 5

He stared around and twenty-three pairs of eyes stared back. The Evaluation. Mags had instructed him to demonstrate his meager skill with a knife and recite his knowledge of plants. Atticus reviewed them in his mind, grateful for his good memory. Next to him, Adriana scowled at all who dared to look at her. She had better odds than he did. He knew Thomas had been helping her use a dagger and a whip. She was used to fishing and working for survival. He had been pampered all his life.

The District 1 girl strode over to the open door, shoulders thrown back, long blonde hair cascading down her back. Atticus bit his lip nervously. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was going to fail. After a few minutes, the door opened and the District 1 boy stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. He was classically handsome, with an aquiline profile and glossy dark hair. Next was the District 2 girl, skin swirling with tattoos, and then the District 2 boy, a veritable giant next to Atticus. The District 3 tributes slunk nervously into the room when it was their turn. Then it was Adriana, who tossed her hair back and stalked in. "Good luck," Atticus whispered belatedly. His voice cracked.

Finally, or all too soon, the door opened. It was his turn. He wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his pants and forced himself to stand. His legs felt like the jelly Millie used to prepare on special occasions.

It was a large room, the ceiling spread out high over the floor. Racks of weapons stood at attention. The Gamemakers sat in a balcony, necks craned. They sat back once they saw the scrawny boy that entered. Atticus stepped over to the weapons and selected a knife. It felt nice in his hands, a reassuringly solid weight. Narrowing his eyes, he drew his elbow back, feet spread apart just like Mags had told him. He released the knife and it tumbled through the air before skittering on the floor.

Okay, Atticus told himself. Deep breaths. It will be okay.

He selected another knife, weighed it once, set himself up, and hurled it towards the target. It landed at the knee. Atticus glanced up at the Gamemakers. A couple seemed to be watching. He licked his lips and carefully grasped another knife. This one landed on the target's shoulder. Atticus threw one more knife, which lodged itself in the target's thigh. Now for his knowledge of plants. Atticus walked towards the center, planted his feet, and clasped his hands together behind his back.

"Presenting uses for common plants…" His voice thinly sounded throughout the room. One Gamemaker grabbed a pen, poised to take notes, and the rest continued talking. Screwing his eyes shut, Atticus launched into his recitation of the uses for plants. When he was done, a few Gamemakers clapped unenthusiastically for him. Oh, well. He was done. Heart pounding, he hastily left the room.

They announced the scores that night. Atticus perched on the edge of his seat, feet tapping the floor anxiously. Adriana appeared as aloof as ever. Augustus clutched a glass of wine in one hand as he beamed vacantly up at the screen. Thomas slouched against the wall, Mags seated on a chair beside him.

The girl from District 1—Juno, Atticus remembered—scored a 10. Mags nodded appreciatively. "Watch out for her. Her father won and she's been trained her entire life for this." Julius, her district partner, scored a 9. Atticus remembered the lethal way he threw a spear at training. Elle, the District 2 girl, received an 8 and her partner, Phillip, scored a 9. The District 3 tributes both got a 5. Then Adriana. Atticus glanced over, but she was staring impassively at the screen.

"Adriana Harbinger, of District 2," the announcer shrilled. "A score of…8!"

Eight. That wasn't bad. That meant sponsors taking not of her, remembering the wild looking girl with the good score. Maybe people would think that District 4 was reviving and could start producing Careers again. Eight. That was good. Adriana curled her lip in pleasure.

"What did you do?" Atticus breathed.

Adriana shrugged, shooting a quick glance at Thomas. "Showed them what I could do. I was pretty good, actually."

Then Atticus saw his own, slightly stunned, face flashed on the screen. He pressed his knees together, trying to still his heart. The announcer seemed to draw out the syllables in his name for an eternity before a single numeral slid onto the screen.

6

Six. Atticus' heart plummeted. Mags nodded. "We can work with a six." Thomas snorted but didn't respond. Atticus sat numbly, not noticing the next few scores until the score for the District 7 girl, a petite chestnut haired girl flashed up. Nine. Mags whistled. "Anyone who gets that, watch out for." The words barely registered in Atticus' numb head. The rest of the scores flew by and then it was over.

"Interviews tomorrow," Augustus said cheerfully. "Your stylists will start working on you early, so best get to bed."

Atticus peeled himself off the couch and padded to his room, his score ringing in his ears. He wondered what his father was thinking of him. Was he proud? Worried that his score wasn't high enough? Suddenly, all he wanted was to be home, in his room listening to the sea, smelling Millie's cooking. But he couldn't. If he was honest with himself, he would probably never return home. He didn't want to think of this now, though. All he wanted was to sleep.


	7. Chapter 6

Glitter. All over. Completely encrusting him from head to foot. He cursed Xenia in his head, or at least tried to. He didn't know any good curses. Cursing someone in his head, however, seemed like something a hardened victor would do, so he tried his best.

Drat her.

Xenia and Adriana's stylist, Odonata, had decided the two of them would look great in a storm theme. He guessed the stylists were basing it off Adriana's wild curls and stormy gray eyes. So he was covered in a swirling blue glittering tunic while Adriana's costume was sparking with electricity. Somehow, they'd managed to insert wires so she looked like a storm cloud ready to unleash a lightning storm. Fitting. Atticus was supposed to be the raging ocean, but he was feeling more nauseous than angry right now.

The chariot lurched forward. Atticus stumbled, but Adriana grabbed him none too gently and hauled him back up. In front of him, the District 3 tributes were covered in wires. He didn't know if that was worse than the glitter.

The crowd screamed as their chariot raced past. Atticus remembered to wave. Adriana stared fiercely ahead, silently daring the crowd to fall in love with her. Then the chariots lined up in front of the president, each districts' offering of animals for the slaughter.

"Welcome," came the president's sinuous whisper, "to the first Quarter Quell. Let the Twenty-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

The interviews came. Atticus was as terrified about speaking in front of all of Panem as he was about dying in front of all of Panem.

"Not to worry, darling, you'll be fabulous," Xenia had twittered as she and the prep team outfitted him for his interview.

Mags had pulled him aside for a few quick words.

"You're the youngest tribute. You have to be confident. Don't complain about getting reaped. Act like you knew it was going to happen and were all ready. Be smart. You can do this."

Thomas didn't say anything, just glared at Atticus. Atticus felt shivers whenever Thomas looked at him, but he didn't know why. He'd only seen the man at the reapings once a year.

Tonight, he was outfitted in a blue-gray suit. He wore the steel-rimmed glasses and his hair was neatly combed back. Somehow, the shoes he wore made him just a little taller and the suit made his shoulders look just a little broader. That was good.

Atticus fidgeted in his seat next to Adriana. He tried desperately to get himself under control. All he could think of was how his life was completely over. He got so wrapped up in dark thoughts that it startled him when Rufus Magnolia called the first tribute to the stage. Atticus focused on her interview to block out his utter terror.

"Juno, Juno, Juno. May I offer my congratulations on being here in the Hunger Games? I know you had some competition, but that campaign you waged…Simply marvelous."

"Why thank you, Rufus." Juno's voice was lower than Atticus had expected. She tossed her golden hair back and straightened her shoulders. Her peacock blue dress, complete with a train of peacock feathers, made her look like a queen.

During the interview, Atticus noticed that Juno was much smarter than beauty queens from District 1 were supposed to be. She nimbly dodged Rufus' probes about her high training score and her strategy for the Games. When she swept gracefully off the stage, the Capitol audience cheered. She had captivated them.

Her District partner had clearly been advised to play up his broad shoulders and good looks. Julius suavely answered Rufus's questions and hinted that he was looking for a woman. The Capitol audience swooned.

The District 2 girl was named Iri. She radiated a deadly power during her interview that Atticus thought would capture many potential sponsors. Maybe it was her tattoos, the way she moved with wolf-like grace, or the bloodthirsty glint in her eyes—whatever it was terrified Atticus.

District 2's male tribute, Polus, took up most of the stage. He responded to Rufus' questions with monosyllabic answers. Still, due to his size—Atticus knew Polus could easily snap his neck—he would be a favorite among sponsors.

Atticus's mind wandered off during the District 3 tributes' interviews. His own was terrifyingly close. What would he say? What would Rufus ask him? He didn't think he could pull off confidence.

And then Adriana was rising from her seat. Terror gripped Atticus' heart. But Adriana, wild as ever in a strapless gray dress that swirled around her body, coolly ascended the stage.

"So, Adriana, let's talk about your reaping. I understand it was your grandmother who cursed District 4?"

Adriana leaned forward. "Let me tell you all something. I was born in District 4, and if I don't die here, I'll die in District 4. But my grandmother is the only person there that I feel any loyalty to. I'll tell you again—District 4 is not getting any of my winnings. I'm here for myself and my grandmother."

Rufus cleared his throat. Adriana's response had unsettled him, although he tried to appear collected. "How about you tell us about your grandmother?"

Adriana stared at him a few minutes, like a predator sizing up her prey. "They say she's a witch. She's just a herbalist. She taught me some stuff. I know what plants will save you and which ones will kill you."

"And what would you say about your chances in the Games?"

Adriana smiled, revealing blindingly white teeth. "Oh, I'm not going to say anything."

Rufus gulped. "Thank you, Adriana. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Atticus Maris of District 4!"

Atticus felt like he had at the reaping. His stomach knotted up and his knees trembled. Willing himself not to throw up, he gracelessly got to his feet and stumbled to the stage.

Rufus seemed to relax when his saw Atticus.

"Welcome, Atticus! Now tell me, how are you?"

Answer the question, Atticus told himself. _That means opening your mouth and saying words._ Atticus opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Rufus waited, a plastic smile pasted on his face. Say something! Atticus commanded himself.

"Pretty good, actually."

Rufus nodded. "Now tell me, how did you feel when you were reaped?"

_Be confident._ "I was surprised, honestly. But then I was flattered. They picked us to turn District 4 around."

Rufus puckered his brow. "It seems like your teammate doesn't feel this way."

Atticus shrugged. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, but he had to keep going. "She's tough, but she misses her grandmother. But I know that we need to make our district proud."

"So do you think you have a chance?"

"Statistically, we all have a 4.2 percent chance of winning. However, some of us are better than others. I would say my chances are higher. But I'm not going to tell you how high."

"And if you were to win?"

"I certainly hope I do. I don't settle for anything less, and of course no one wants to die at fourteen. I'd be proud that District 4 is where we're meant to be."

Rufus bobbed his head, some strands of his neon orange hair falling in his eyes. "At fourteen, you're the youngest tribute. How does that make you feel?"

Atticus adjusted his glasses. "Age is just a number. But then, I've always been good with numbers."


	8. Chapter 7

More interviews. They went by in a blur. Five, six, seven. He made himself pay attention to the District Seven girl because she got a nine in training. She was quiet and moved with quick, jerky movements. Rufus tried to draw her out, but she stayed in her shell. Atticus didn't think she was scared, exactly. More like cautious. After all, the people in her district had nominated her to die. But anyone who could get a nine, especially not a Career, that was someone to pay attention to.

Eight, nine, ten. Six scared and angry kids. He didn't blame them.

The girl from Eleven was tall and wiry. Something in her eyes was feral and not quite human. Her district partner was built like a rock. Both of them were people to watch out for.

The girl from Twelve was petite but looked vicious. Her district partner, on the other hand, seemed perfectly relaxed on stage.

"So, Felix, tell me about yourself," Rufus said.

Felix grinned, pushing his dark hair out of his face. "Not much to say. I'm a favorite with the ladies, of course." He winked, and the audience tittered. "I'm sure I'm leaving behind some broken hearts, but ladies, I'm sure you're terribly jealous of Sage, seeing as she gets to be my district partner, but I'm glad you restrained yourselves from volunteering for her. Our romance would be awfully short-lived."

Rufus laughed. "Any other strengths?"

"Well, I mean, look at me!" Felix stretched his arms out. "My looks, my charm, I've got these Games in the bag!"

"I'm sure you do," Rufus said. "Now, tell us, why do you think your district chose you for the Games?"

"Jealousy," Felix said immediately. "The boys don't take to kindly to me around their girls. But no hard feelings, lads, when I come back. It's not my fault that ladies can't resist a victor."  
"Is that it?"

"Well, there is the little matter of the schoolhouse. It seems that District 12 doesn't take kindly to an enterprising young lad setting the school on fire. I thought they'd appreciate me burning down the old shack, but apparently not."

Atticus bit down hard to keep from laughing. Rufus had no qualms guffawing onstage, though.

"And those, ladies and gentlemen, are your tributes for the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games! Tributes, may the odds be _ever _in your favor!"

"Brilliant," Mags said. "Exactly what we wanted."

Thomas didn't say anything, just glared at Atticus. Something wasn't right there, Atticus thought. Thomas _hated _him. But he didn't know why.

"We have to talk, though," Mags said. "The tributes—they're worse than usual. Atticus, you're the youngest. Most districts, at least, had the heart to pick older kids. Everyone else is at least sixteen. But Four…"

Thomas scowled. "It's justice."

"Thomas! The Games are tomorrow! That was eighteen years ago! You have to let it go!" Mags snapped.

Adriana looked at Atticus, one eyebrow raised. Atticus wished he was somewhere else. What was going on?

Thomas slouched against the wall. "You don't want him to know what really happened?"

Mags glared fiercely. Most people would have given in. But not Thomas.

If he was going to survive the Hunger Games, he would have to be brave. So Atticus reached deep inside, found his voice, and spoke.

"Just tell me."

Mags didn't say anything. "You tell him. It's your story."

"Right then," Thomas said, straightening up. Atticus could tell he was barely suppressing his anger. "Do you know who was reaped for the 7th Hunger Games? Because it wasn't me."

Atticus shook his head. He was regretting having asked.

"Your father. But I volunteered. He was sixteen years old. But he wouldn't have survived the Bloodbath. He was a skinny kid, like you. Not a fighter. I felt bad, of course. But he was the mayor's son. We all felt like it was justice. Not one of us this time. But his father, he screamed for someone to volunteer. He said he'd give the volunteer's family whatever they wanted. I was eighteen. It was my last year. And we were going through another damn drought. We were _starving. _You've never gone hungry a day in your life. But I have. So I volunteered. And I asked that my family would never want for anything. The old man, he kept his word. But I thought I was going to die."

Thomas took a deep breath. Atticus felt sick to his stomach.

"Maces. Those were the only weapons they gave us. And twenty-three kids died absolutely horrific deaths. Skulls smashed in, backs broken, noses crushed, brains spilling out. We all had to batter each other to death. I killed five people. Your father would have died the very first day. But I won because I was bigger and stronger and had nothing to lose. So that's why you're in the Games. Your grandfather cheated the Games, but your father can't. You're in for the sins of your father and your father's father. And you will most likely die."

Thomas broke off, chest heaving. He held Atticus' gaze for one awful second, then turned and stalked from the room.

Atticus looked at Mags desperately.

"It's true," she said.

"I…" Atticus stammered. "They all want me _dead?"_

"Well, they want me dead, too," Adriana remarked.

The world spun around Atticus too fast. His stomach churned. He hadn't done anything. His father hadn't either. And his grandfather had only done what any parent would. But Atticus would have to pay the price with his death.

Mags looked at him, her expression oddly gentle. "I was going to say how much more lethal the tributes will be this year. But you already know that. So just don't trust anyone." She looked into both of their eyes and then turned to go.

Atticus' legs couldn't support him anymore. He fell into a chair. In the Capitol, the chairs were too thick. They just swallowed you up.

"Did you know?" he asked Adriana. His voice cracked.

"Yeah, I knew," she said. "I knew what happened with your father, and I knew they were going to pick you. But I didn't know about me. Those two faced bastards."

Atticus put his face in his hands.

"Hey. One or both of us is not going to survive these Games. But, I promise I won't kill you if you don't kill me."

"I won't," Atticus mumbled. "There's no way I can." The thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Who knows what any of us are capable of? I sure as hell will kill someone if they're trying to kill me. And they all are, because only one can win."

Desperate thoughts were swirling about it Atticus' brain. His father. Oh, goodness, his _father. _Thomas had saved not just his father's life by volunteering, but also Atticus'. Because of Thomas, Atticus had fourteen years. Fourteen years. The Games had come full circle, Atticus thought bitterly. The Games started tomorrow. He most likely would not see the sunset.

"I'm going to bed," Adriana said. She swept out of the room, leaving Atticus all alone.


	9. Chapter 8

Bits and pieces, chopped together, blurred around Atticus, the animal his district had sent to the slaughter.

Xenia pressed him into the outfit for the arena.

Mags grabbed him by the shoulders and told him to trust his instincts.

He thought of his father and their last desperate meeting.

His dreams were wild and fractured.

Thomas' accusing gaze never left him.

The outfit had no glitter, a small mercy.

Xenia combed his hair back and placed his brand new glasses on his face.

He fingered the piece of sea glass Millie had given him, a last reminder of his old life.

Adriana jogged in place, looking beautiful and deadly in her outfit.

He thought of maces and tributes' crushed skulls.

He hated the way the glasses felt on his face.

Mags looked at him with her calm eyes.

His stomach churned like an ocean storm.

There were twenty-four tributes and one of him.

He remembered his warm, safe bedroom in District 4.

Adriana tossed her hair back.

They'd voted him in.

For the sins of his father and grandfather.

Atticus stood in the transport tube. The walls seemed to close in on him, and he gasped desperate breaths. Xenia stood before him, looking less perky than usual. It couldn't be easy, styling kids who would be dead in days. Her ditziness was just a shield.

"Good luck, Atticus!" she squeaked, her voice cracking. "It was a pleasure working with you!"

Atticus waved feebly at her. This was it. In one minute he could be dead.

_Please don't let there be maces._

Xenia's face was distorted through the tube. She looked like she was crying, but she couldn't be, it was just a trick of the light.

And then he was pulled up into the light. The announcer started counting down, and Atticus thought of his own numbers.

60 seconds to live.

25 Hunger Games.

24 tributes.

552 tributes dead so far.

7th Hunger Games that Thomas won.

12 districts.

2 tributes betrayed by District 4.

1st Quarter Quell.

2 fathers.

23 other tributes.

1 victor.

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1


	10. Intermission

_The Capitol audience, watching from the comfort of their homes, can hardly wait for this. As the logo of the Hunger Games flashes on the screen, they suck in anxious breaths. The Quarter Quell—the first one ever! How exciting—is so…original and twisted. They fawned over the twenty-four tributes the districts chose for the games. How perfectly evil, how wonderfully diabolical it was to force the districts to pick off sheep outside the flock, to group closer together and force the black sheep outside. It's marvelous._

_They can see the twenty-four tributes, poised on their platforms. A stone wall, about six feet high, surrounds them. They'll have to scale the wall to escape the bloodbath. In the center is the Cornucopia, made of iron. Spilling out of it are guns, old-fashioned pistols and rifles. How perplexing. There's a few ornately carved knifes, too. As for other supplies, there's a small stash of leather knapsacks._

_But what's most interesting, besides the stone wall trapping the tributes in for the bloodbath, is something the Capitol audience hasn't seen yet, but something they will soon. The twist for the first Quarter Quell._

_Let the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games begin!_

**Author's Note: So thus begins the first Quarter Quell. Please review, it really makes my day. Tell me what you liked and what I need to work on. Thanks!**


	11. Chapter 9

Kill or be killed. There was no middle ground in the wild, ferocious games.

Twenty-three children sent in because of their parents' unforgivable rebellion made to kill each other.

This was the beginning of the end.

Atticus' heart flopped around in his chest like a dying fish. He pushed off of his plate and sprinted for the Cornucopia and felt his fingers close around a knapsack. Suddenly, a dark shape filled his vision. It was a tribute. A recently deceased tribute. Atticus wanted to retch, but he knew, in the only part of him that stood a chance of surviving this madness, that he had to run. He shoved the tribute off him, blood smearing his fingers, and looked around. The wall. That was the only way out. But what was waiting for him on the other side? He had to go. The District 2 girl, the tattooed one, was bent over the body of a feebly stirring girl. Her district partner was wrestling with the District 11 male over a gun. As Atticus sprinted for the wall, he heard a shot go off.

A boy lunged in front of him, and without thinking Atticus swung his knapsack up, hitting the boy in the face. The boy stumbled back and raised a knife. As he was about to stab at Atticus, a sharp crack rang out. A whip wrapped itself around his neck like a snake. Atticus gasped with relief as the boy swung around to face his attacker. But a red spot blossomed on his forehead. He had been shot. Atticus spared a quick glance over his shoulder as he stumbled away. Adriana, looking like an avenging goddess brandishing a whip and pistol, was standing over his body.

Atticus crashed against the wall. How the hell was he supposed to get over without being shot in the back? He scrambled, trying to find niches between the stones. He jammed his feet in and clambered up, scraping his knuckles raw. He dropped over, wincing as the shock raced up his shins. Atticus leaned back against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He didn't see anyone else, just a rocky landscape with several scrubby trees. In the distance, he could see a patch of green forest. Time to get to cover. He hurried off for the first grove of trees, keeping his head low. When he arrived, he glanced back. Several Careers were hunched by the wall, plotting to ambush tributes as they dropped over. Atticus felt sick. All the horrors of the bloodbath rushed back and he retched, spattering his breakfast against a rock.

One thought pounded itself in his brain—he had to get away. The Careers hadn't noticed him, but he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the Cornucopia as possible. So Atticus picked himself up and trotted, the knapsack banging against his knees to the forest.

The canopy of leaves over his head soothed him. Atticus felt covered and somewhat protected. He had survived the Bloodbath—he, Atticus Maris, the youngest tribute, nominated to die by his district. That was something to be proud of. He wove his way through the trees some more and then squatted at the base of an oak to rifle through his sack. Atticus found a leather canteen of water, some hard crackers, a roll of bandages, and some primitive scissors. Not bad. He would save the crackers for tonight.

Atticus stood up and felt a thrill of fear course through him. Yes, he was safe from the Careers for now, but what was lurking in the forest? Rationally, he knew that the Capitol usually didn't kill kids the first day—they preferred to leave that to the kids themselves—but the forest seemed dark and foreign to him. He was accustomed to wide open water and the forest didn't seem comforting any longer.

Atticus sucked in air, trying to calm himself. Hysterics wouldn't help him survive. And survive he would. He hadn't thought of that until now, but surviving the Bloodbath meant something.

He trekked through the forest, stopping for occasional sips of water. He saw no signs of any creatures except for one squirrel or any tributes. Finally, he reached the edge. Peering out, he saw that the sun was approaching the horizon. He had to find a safe place to spend the night to avoid being hunted down by the Careers. But what was this? Two cabins at the edge of the woods! Atticus could hardly believe it. He wanted to race towards them, but then hesitated. What if something was lurking in them? But it was so _tempting. _He couldn't stay the night, of course—that was too obvious—but maybe there were some supplies. Atticus debated, shifting his weight between his feet. _Trust your instincts, _Mags had told him. His gut told him that eventually, he would run out of food. His gut also reminded him that since he had thrown up, he hadn't had anything to eat.

Atticus squared his skinny shoulders and threw his knapsack over his back. Taking a deep breath, he placed one foot in front of the other and slowly made his way to the first cabin. Picking up a stick, he forced his hand to be steady. Slowly, he touched the door with the stick and pushed it open. Nothing happened. He pushed it open some more. Still nothing. Atticus lowered the stick and peered inside. After his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a simple wooden table and chairs and a wooden cupboard. Atticus stepped inside.

No traps swallowed him up, so he figured he was good. He carefully pried open the cupboard, and when nothing leaped out at him, reached inside. There were a few more of the crackers, some dried meat, and raw beans. He scooped some of it inside his bag, careful not to take too much and give away his presence. As Atticus turned to leave, his eyes focused on a rifle hanging above the fireplace. Should he take it? He had no idea how to shoot, but it couldn't be that hard, you just had to aim and pull the trigger. Practicing with it would give his location away, but he didn't have any weapons. Atticus thought. One thing he absolutely couldn't do was give away his presence here. Taking the rifle would mean leaving two empty hooks. One of the wilier Careers, like Juno, could spot it. He couldn't take the risk. However, there was a rack of knives by the cupboard. Atticus plucked one out and placed it in his knapsack.

Out of the cabin, Atticus tucked himself back in the forest. Careers might come to the cabins, so he made sure to go far enough away. He found himself at a base of a pine that reminded himself of Mags' Hunger Games. Pines couldn't be that hard to climb. Gritting his teeth, he swung himself up on the first branch and climbed up. When he couldn't go any higher for fear of the branches breaking under his weight, he used the bandages to tie himself to the trunk.

The anthem sounded through the forest. Atticus' stomach clenched. Who was dead? Then they began showing the tributes. Both of the ones from District 3 had died. Atticus' mouth felt dry. Was Adriana okay? But the next one shown was the District 5 female. Atticus breathed a sigh of relief. She had saved him, after all. Both from 6 had died, as well as the boy from 7 and the girl from 8. The District 7 female, the one who got a 9 in training, was still alive, then. Both from 9 and 10 were still alive. The boy from 11 was dead, though, the one built like an ox. Atticus wondered if the Careers had targeted him when he refused to join them. Last was Sage, the girl from 12. Nine dead.

Atticus leaned his head back against the trunk. He was terrified to spend the night by himself, unable to dismiss the irrational fears of being murdered in the night by the Careers. He dozed fitfully the whole night, but when sunlight streamed through the trees in the morning, Atticus Maris was still alive.


	12. Chapter 10

Day two of the Twenty-fifth Hunger Games. Atticus untied the bandages from around his waist and stretched. He was exhausted, his terror keeping him awake all night, jumping at every sound. Today, he was going to stay up in the tree.

Atticus tried not to remember the Bloodbath, but the horrible memories flooded back. Nine tributes, nine kids who were cast out by their Districts, were dead. For no reason, just to punish them for their parent's uprising. Atticus closed his eyes. He couldn't think like this anymore. He had to stay strong, distance himself from the horrible events taking place.

Atticus sipped some water and ate one of the hard crackers. Then it occurred to him that he needed to relieve himself. Carefully glancing around, he inched down the pine tree. When he got to the bottom, he found himself face to face with the girl from District 7.

Atticus froze. Was this it? He had the knife in his knapsack, but there was no way he could get to it before she attacked. The girl stared at him, her liquid brown eyes wide. She glared at him, raising her knife threateningly.

Before he arrived at the Capitol, Atticus had imagined what it would be like in the Games. When his thoughts turned to his death, he imagined a noble, valiant death in defense of another. But now, with the prospect of being stabbed through the heart or having his throat slit, Atticus was terrified beyond reason.

"Please…" he whispered. "Please don't kill me."

The District 7 girl sized him up. What was her name? He couldn't remember now.

"Empty your bags," she ordered harshly. Atticus jumped. He fumbled with the buckle on his knapsack and spilled his supplies on the forest floor. The girl carefully selected the knife he had taken from the cabin, tucking it in her waistband. She motioned for him to pack everything else back up.

"I'm not going to kill you now, but don't get in my way again. I have absolutely nothing to lose." As she looked into his eyes, Atticus pointlessly remembered that her name was Sparrow. He remembered his father telling him that sparrow might be small but they were vicious. It fit the girl pretty well.

The sound of footsteps filled the forest. Sparrow jerked and quickly sprinted away. She was fast, gone in an instant. Was that how she got a 9? Atticus quickly shook himself out of his stupor and scrambled up the tree. He pressed himself against the trunk, hardly daring to breathe. It was the District 9 girl. She was tall and skinny, with angular joints and wavy blonde hair. Atticus wondered vaguely why she was in the Games. But she didn't seem to be much of a threat—she didn't look up at all, just hesitated on the edge of the forest, looking at the cabins.

Atticus dug his nails into the bark as the girl approached the cabins. She selected the one he had gone in yesterday and reappeared a few seconds later with an armful of food. _Stupid—she'll give it away that someone's been here. _The she stepped over to the other, identical cabin and pulled open the door. The girl froze on the doorstep and Atticus had a horrible feeling in his gut. Then the girl desperately darted off the doorstep before a brown blur launched itself after her. It was some type of bear mutation and it tackled her before she could get too far away. It was over in a matter of seconds. The enormous beast padded back inside the cabin, the door swinging shut behind it, while the girl's body lay on the grass, her throat torn out and her guts lying on the grass.

A cannon boomed.

Atticus couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl's ruined body. What if he had gone into that cabin? That would be him, lying ripped apart in the clearing. A hovercraft came to take the body away. Ten tributes dead.

Atticus spent the rest of the day in the tree, his fear of the other tributes preventing him from doing anything more than venturing down once to stretch his legs. He didn't hear any more of those awful cannons, though. He could hardly believe that the girl's quick death could have been his own if not for a twist of fate. He ate another cracker but was too scared to go down into the cabin for more. Evening crept over the forest, and after the anthem, they shown the picture of the District 9 girl in the sky. Was her district mourning her now?

He was trying to get comfortable on the branch when he saw a dark shape scurrying across the ground. His first thought was that it was the bear, which was irrational—this was much too small. As the figure straightened and looked around, brushing floppy black hair out of his eyes, Atticus realized that it was Felix, the District 12 tribute.

And he was heading for the cabin with the bear in it.

Atticus scrambled out of the tree, ignoring how it scraped his already raw knuckles. He hurried across to the clearing, desperately hoping that the Careers weren't lurking nearby.

"Stop!" he yelled hoarsely, as loud as he dared.

Felix whirled around, dropping into a defensive stance. If he had a weapon, he didn't have it out.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Atticus halted, catching his breath. "Don't go in that cabin. The girl from District 9 opened the door, and this bear mutation ripped her throat out and tore her stomach open. I saw it."

Felix narrowed his eyes. "Why should I trust you?"

"Don't," Atticus said. "Just open the door. But I'm telling the truth."

"And the other one's safe?"

Atticus nodded. "I'll go in and prove to you."

Felix's gaze followed him as he opened the door. For one terrible instant, he was afraid that something would be in here, too, but nothing happened.

"See? It's fine!"

Felix crept in and looked around. "That bed's tempting. Tree branches sure are a pain in the ass. Literally."

Atticus grinned. "The District 9 girl took most of the supplies. I didn't want to make it seem like anyone had been in here, but there's no point now. We might as well take what we want."

Atticus scooped some supplies in his knapsack and selected two of the knives. Felix took the other two and grabbed the rifle from the mantle. "We don't want those Career bastards to get anything," he remarked.

When they came outside, the night was an inky blue. Felix gave Atticus a hard stare.

"You saved my life," he said.

Atticus shuffled his feet. "I didn't want anyone to end up like the District 9 girl. It could have been me. I just got lucky."

"I've never been lucky a day in my life," Felix said. "Except with the ladies. By the way, your district partner? _Daaaamn. _If we weren't in a fight for our lives, I sure would like to get to know her." He winked at Atticus.

This was awkward. Adriana was pretty, yes, but she was also two years older. And, like Felix said, this was the Hunger Games. One victor.

Felix laughed at Atticus' discomfort. "That interview dress of hers? She looked so…well, we can discuss her unfairly hot legs later. We're sitting ducks here, partner."

Atticus and Felix hurried out of the clearing. When they reached the cover of the trees, Atticus looked up at Felix. "Did you just call me partner?"

"'Course I did. You saved my life and that means we're irrevocably bound together. Like blood brothers or something. Anyways, you're lucky, and I'm hoping that'll rub off on me. So, deal?"

Atticus stared at Felix's outstretched hand. His instincts told him that the District 12 boy was genuine. So he wiped his bloody, dirty hand on his bloody, dirty pants and shook Felix's bloody, dirty hand.

Partners. Maybe he stood a chance, after all.


	13. Chapter 11

Felix was a pickpocket from the poor part of District 12. He had a little brother who was nine, and from the way he told it, a total demon. "The kid's a brat," he informed Atticus over their breakfast of more of those infernal hard crackers. "Doubt he'll amount to anything, but he is useful for distracting my victims with those big brown eyes."

Felix's mother had died, like Atticus'. While Atticus had only the blurriest snatches of his mother, Felix could recall everything from the exact shade of her eyes—"green with a few flecks of gold, like, I dunno, she was some sort of magic lady"—and her way of walking—"like she was floating or something". Except she died when Felix was nine. And then, Felix's father turned to whiskey. His voice trailed off when he was telling this to Atticus, and it was the first time he heard the District 12 tribute sound unsure. Although Felix skimmed around it, Atticus could tell his father was less than pleasant to his boys.

When Felix finished, he looked at Atticus expectantly. Atticus wasn't sure why Felix wanted to tell him his life story, but maybe knowing you were about to die made you want to make sure _someone _knew about you. And although Felix had told his story to Atticus, all of Panem knew thanks to those tiny eyes Atticus had seen glinting in the trees. As Felix looked at him, one eyebrow raise, Atticus felt that familiar stage fright creep up.

_It's just Felix, _he told himself. So he opened his mouth, and out came all of it. His life before, in District 4, in that pretty house by the seashore, with his father, whose eyes crinkled when he saw Atticus. Private tutors, fine food, boating trips, all a boy could want. Millie, who had given him the piece of sea glass in his pocket, and Mollusk, nervous and awkward, but still kind. The 7th Hunger Games and his grandfather's desperate bargain.

Felix nodded. "Ironic, huh? You had everything and I had nothing, yet we're still both kicked out by our districts and probably going to be gutted by some Career."

Atticus shrugged. He didn't really want to talk about why they were here. If it wasn't a Quarter Quell, or even if the president's hand had moved one millimeter farther and picked a different card, he might not be here. But it was luck and vengeance that brought him here.

"So," Felix said. "We're allies 'cause you're smart and I still want some action from your district partner. I'm guessing the last one might not happen, but c'mon. We need some sort of strategy."

"I've never exactly been in the Hunger Games before," Atticus said.

"But you've watched it, haven't you?" Felix said impatiently. "Look, there's fourteen of us left, and sooner or later, the Careers are going to come a-callin'. I propose we have a better strategy than 'Please don't kill us, nice Careers'."

Atticus looked around. They'd been hiding up in the pine trees, a good distance from the twin cabins, and so far, they hadn't heard any cannon shots. He wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Glancing around, he saw that towards the rising sun was a rocky desert, and past that, the stone circle surrounding the Cornucopia. Towards the west were bluffs, with a few windswept trees frantically clinging to the sides. A standard arena. He'd seen worse, like the time it was a giant maze made out of hedges and stone, and you never knew if a tribute was lurking around the next corner. But this was a Quarter Quell. Weren't they supposed to do something special.

"Well?" Felix prompted.

"We need to figure out where the other tributes are," Atticus said. He didn't want to stumble upon a nest of angry Careers.

Felix let his head thud against the trunk of the pine tree. "The Careers are scouting the arena looking for tributes. They were at the edge of the forest when I saw them last."

Atticus felt fear curl through him. "H-how many are there?"

"The ones from 1 and, but the girl from 11 joined. Nasty piece of work, that one is. Wouldn't even look at me when I talked to her."

Atticus doubted that Felix was just "talking" to the girl from 11, but what was more important was that the girl from 11 was with the Careers. Districts Eleven and Twelve hadn't had any victors yet. So why would the Careers let a poor farm girl join? Because she wasn't just a poor farm girl. After all, something about her had made her District cast her out.

"Five. Okay. Where are the other tributes?"

Felix scratched his head, his greasy black hair falling in front of his eyes. "Well, before I met up with you, I was doing some scoutin' meself, and I know the ones from 10 are stickin' together. Then there's the boy from 9—heard he was messin' around with the mayor's daughter—and the boy from 8, oooh, and _Adriana. _Oh, and the girl from 7. The ones from 10 are hiding in the forest, the boy from 8 and Adriana were heading for the bluff, and I dunno where the girl from 7 went."

Atticus had watched the Hunger Games thirteen times. He frantically tried to recall the memories he had worked so hard to block out. What were they supposed to do?

And then he had an idea. It was probably insane. No, it was definitely insane. But it could work. He'd need Felix's help of course, but Felix was a pickpocket—he'd be perfect.

Atticus swallowed. "I think I have a plan."

Felix brightened. "How good of a plan is it?"

"Crazy."

"The best type. Let's do this!"


	14. Chapter 12

Smoke curled up from the Career's fire by the Cornucopia. Atticus held his breath as he and Felix approached. Felix's face was taut with anticipation. Atticus felt nauseous. The darkness was suffocating him. What if he died tonight? He would never see the sun again.

Atticus nodded at Felix. Felix nodded back, and then darted out in front of the Cornucopia. The Careers sat up like wolves that had scented their prey. They bounded after Felix, dust flying in their haste. Atticus sent up a desperate prayer that Felix would be fast enough.

Except the Careers hadn't all left. Juno was still there, looking like a goddess carved out of marble, her blond hair shining in the moonlight. Atticus froze. Juno slowly turned and notched an arrow on her bow. This was it. He was going to die hiding in the trees like a coward.

Juno slowly released the arrow and it winged its way toward Atticus, a missile from the Angel of Death.

It made a satisfying thunk as it buried itself into its target. Every fiber inside Atticus screamed for him to run, get out of here. But he didn't. By firing that arrow into a tree just above his head, Juno had been trying to flush out any tributes who might be conspiring with Felix. Atticus didn't move an inch, though, as Juno slowly lowered her bow. She returned to sit by the fire. After what seemed like hours, Atticus slowly inched away. Willing himself not to trip, he slowly, painfully made it a safe distance from the Career fire. Then he launched into a desperate run towards Felix.

He heard a cannon fire and immediately scrambled up a tree. Whose was it? _Not Felix, please not Felix. _The agony of waiting felt like fire ants were crawling all over him. No more cannons fired.

He waited. That was the plan. He waited until his skin was on fire and his bones prickled and his heart painfully pushed blood through his body. He waited.

They'd already played the anthem for the third night of the Hunger Games—no deaths. What if he had to wait a whole day to find out who was dead? What if it was Felix? He _liked _Felix. Or what if Felix had abandoned him?

The sky slowly blushed a rosy pink as the sun picked its way up the sky. And then he heard it—the sound of a slightly ticked off cat. _Felix!_

Atticus scrambled down from his pine and landed on the forest floor. There stood Felix, slightly scraped but beaming.

"It really worked!" Felix said exuberantly. "It really freakin' worked!"

Atticus couldn't believe it. Felix was alive and his plan had worked!

Felix let out a roar of pure joy and pounded Atticus on the back. "Good job, man! It worked just like you said it would!" He enveloped Atticus into a fierce hug. Awkwardly, Atticus patted on the back. He'd never really played with boys his own age, never developed friendships so fierce that one boy would die for the other. The Games did funny things to you.

Atticus and Felix pulled apart, Felix still grinning maniacally. Blood pounded through Atticus' head. It worked—but now what?

"Who died?"

Felix' grin faded. "Couldn't tell. I led them to the cabins, just like you said. I hid and they thought I went into, ya know, _the cabin. _And then…"

Atticus knew very well what happened next. He hoped the reason Felix couldn't tell who died was because it was too dark.

"They'll be coming after us now for vengeance," Atticus said solemnly.

"Yeah," Felix said. "But we did it! We tricked the Careers!"

_Not all of them, _Atticus thought. But he didn't mention Juno.

He and Felix feasted on beef jerky. They decided not to go back to the cabins, not knowing if the Careers would be hanging around. Anyways, they had stocked up on supplies yesterday, enough to last them about 5 days. That might not be necessary, though.

"We have to move," Atticus said. "The bluffs, I think. We can see them coming."

Felix nodded. "Let's go."

As they walked, Felix told stories about pickpocketing in District 12 and his narrow escapes from angry citizens and Peacekeepers. Atticus was glad Felix was telling his ridiculous stories—it distracted him from the fact that he was trapped in a fight to the death.

"And then I ran right through the stall of Old Pack—he sells chickens, and he's as mean as a snake—and all the chickens kicked up a good fuss. Old Pack was mighty pissed, but when the Peacekeepers who were chasing me tried to follow me, Old Pack got right in their faces, squawking like one of his damned chickens."

Atticus snorted with laughter. "Then what happened?"

Felix smirked. "I got away, didn't I? The Peacekeepers were too busy messing with Old Pack. I've tried to avoid Old Pack ever since, though."

"Did you ever get caught?" Atticus asked.

Felix paused. He stared into the distance where the bluffs arose from the earth. For a moment, Atticus thought he hadn't heard him, but then he answered. "Once. But I don't really want to talk about it."

Atticus could understand. He knew the punishment for thieving was a whipping. In District 4, with the drought, poverty had pushed people to their limits, and stealing was common. Atticus had been to a few whippings, as the son of the mayor, and being forced to watch the whips carve deep canyons on people's backs was horrifying. Was that why they sent him to the Hunger Games? Because they had no food and he was always well fed? Was that his fault? If he'd given people food, if he'd tried to interact with his fellow citizens, would they have overlooked what happened in the 7th Hunger Games and spared him? It was too late now.

By nightfall, they had reached the edge of the forest. They climbed into the trees and tethered themselves to the trunk. Atticus leaned back, feeling the rough bark against himself, the pain reminding him that after all this, he was still alive. He'd made it through four days of the Hunger Games. The anthem played, its slow, haunting notes weaving through the trees. And then the faces came up.

It was the District 2 male, Polus, who was built like a rock.

Felix swore softly from the next tree.

Seeing Polus' face in the sky, glaring down vengefully, made it all real. Atticus and Felix were the reason that this boy was torn apart. Sure, it was the bear that did the actual tearing, but it was Atticus who had the idea and Felix who had executed it.

Was he a killer? Did he deserve to be here? The world seemed to turn around Atticus like the deck of a ship in stormy waters. Atticus fumbled with the knots that held him in the tree. He scrambled down and promptly vomited in a nearby bush.

He.

Had.

Killed.

A.

Boy.

Never mind that Polus was eighteen, or that he'd campaigned to be in the Games. Never mind that Atticus wasn't even there when he died. For the rest of the life, Atticus would always see the image of Polus in the sky when he closed his eyes. Suddenly, Atticus didn't want to win. Compared with this crushing guilt he felt, dying seemed to be better.

"You alright?" Felix whispered hoarsely.

Atticus wiped his mouth off. He didn't know what to say to Felix. The District 12 boy never seemed bothered by Polus' death. Maybe it was because he was used to doing whatever he had to survive. But Atticus, pampered and protected, felt the guilt suffocating him.

He climbed the tree again, his legs shaking. "No."

"We did what we had to do. Pity we only took one Career down."

Atticus closed his eyes. There was Polus, eyes burning with anger. "I wish we weren't here, Felix."

"Well, we are. And chances are neither of us are going to survive, so we might as well take as many Careers with us as we can."

What did his father think of him, watching this? Atticus pulled the piece of sea glass, a shard of District 4, from his pocket. He felt his father's eyes on him as he rubbed his fingers over the worn surface. It was still clenched in his fists when morning dawned.


	15. Chapter 13

Golden sunlight washed across the arena. Atticus straightened and blearily rubbed his eyes.

"Felix?" he called out softly.

"Got any food?" Felix called back. "I'm all out."

Atticus opened his knapsack. There were a few crumbs of those tasteless hard crackers and one strip of beef jerky.

"Not really."

Felix swore.

They split the beef jerky for a meager breakfast, then returned to the pine trees to plan their strategy. To get to the bluffs, they would have to cross an open grassy area, completely exposed to prowling Careers.

"Atticus?" Felix said urgently. "Look at that. That wasn't here last night, was it?"

Atticus looked, his eyes searching the forest floor. There—a glint of metal. Peering at it more closely, Atticus saw that there were two parallel rods of metal that ran through the forest out across the grasslands. Should they check it out? Curiosity battled with caution.

"Let's check it out!" Felix cried.

Sighing, Atticus went down from the tree and padded over to where Felix was examining the metal bars. Inside the metal bars, slats of wood were laid perpendicular to the metal tracks.

Felix tilted his head and squinted his golden eyes. "What is it?"

"Train tracks," Atticus said.

"Those don't look like train tracks." The train tracks for the train that had taken them to the Capitol were merely one bar of metal that the train raced along.

"Old fashioned train tracks," Atticus said. "Long before the Dark Days."

"What about the train?" Felix asked.

"I don't know," Atticus said, his skin prickling with anxiety.

Something rustled in the trees above and he jumped, startled. Craning his neck, Atticus saw a parachute tangled in the branches of the pine tree.

"Is that for us?" Felix said excitedly. He dashed over and snagged it out. Atticus envied his height: Felix barely had to stretch to reach the parachute.

Felix fumbled with the box. "It's for you," he said disappointedly, tossing Atticus a note and a bundle of hard crackers.

Atticus,

Be strong. Be smart. And watch out—Now!

-M

The ground rumbled under their feet.

"Move!" Atticus cried. He dashed for the safety of the pine, Felix surpassing him. The branches were shaking as he tried to climb. What was going on? Felix was cursing under his breath, repeating the words like a mantra.

The trees around them quaked, needles raining down. And the train tracks were humming with energy.

All thoughts left Atticus as he saw what was thundering through the forest. A great iron beast belching clouds of thick black smoke lumbered through. Atticus pressed his hands over his ears as the train hurtled past. It was gone in an instant, and the earth shook in fear as it left.

_Now would be another good time for cursing, _he thought numbly, listening to Felix's mumbled swearing.

A train. A train in the Hunger Games. It was big and clunky, nothing like the sleek Capitol train. Why was it here? What was in it? Where was it going?

Felix's face was ghost white. "Why the _hell _would they put a damn train in the Hunger Games? Are they trying to kill us or something?"

Atticus snickered and Felix grinned. "Never saw a frickin' _train _before in the Games. Guess we're special, this being the Quarter Quell and all."

The two boys stared at the gently vibrating tracks. Atticus was still shaking from seeing the iron behemoth. _These Games_, he thought grimly, _they're going to kill me_.

And then the shots rang out.

**So I feel like this chapter is too short. Oh, well, let me know what you think!**


	16. Chapter 14

A strangled scream tore the forest apart. Felix darted to his feet like a startled cat and streaked away from the gunshots. Atticus glanced behind him and saw a flash of a tribute's face. He had to run, now, or he would be slaughtered. He dashed after Felix, wishing his legs were as long as the District 12 tribute's.

Atticus' heart pounded in his chest. Someone was hunting them. Was it the Careers seeking vengeance for Polus? No, the scream came from another tribute. Atticus risked a glance back and saw the colorless face of the District 10 male about 100 feet behind him. Atticus pumped his arms. A bullet slammed into a maple in front of him, sending splinters flying. Where was Felix?

"Atticus!" It was Felix, off in the distance, and he was gesturing wildly for Atticus to follow him. Figuring the pickpocket would have plenty of experience running and hiding, Atticus sprinted after him. Already, he could feel an ache in his chest and wondered how long he could keep this up.

Felix grabbed his wrist and yanked Atticus after him. The boys ran, swerving around trees, hearing the sharp cracks of the gun behind them. And then there was the hopeless boom of a cannon. Atticus almost stopped, but Felix dragged him on.

"We're… almost… at the… edge… of the… forest." Felix's words came in quick bursts. "We..have to… make a …. break… for it!"

Terror seized Atticus. "The fields… are totally… out in… the open!" he gasped.

Felix shook his head. "We can…lie down…in the…grass."

Atticus felt something whiz over his head, and then a bullet buried itself in the trunk of a tree. Filled with the purest form of terror, he dashed into the fields, Felix desperately following him.

Then there was another ear-splitting crack, and Felix's vise-like grip on his wrist slackened. Atticus, intent on reaching safety, kept going. Then he heard his name yelled frantically.

He turned.

The world ended.

A bright red stain blossomed on Felix's chest. It was almost like a flower, Atticus thought. Every instant seemed like an eternity as Felix's golden eyes bored into his own. Atticus moved dreamlike towards his friend. And then time rushed and poured and every instant tumbled by as another shot split his daze.

"Dammit, Atticus, help me!" Felix pleaded. Atticus crouched down. The boy would be dead in another minute.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Felix. I have to go."

Felix reached up. His hands were red with his own blood. "Don't leave me. Don't…frickin'…leave me. Dammit, I'm dying."

"Felix," Atticus said. It all seemed unreal to him. "You were the best friend I ever had. But they will kill me if I don't go. Felix? Felix!"

And then Felix was gone with the heartless burst of the cannon.

Atticus stumbled.

It was raining.

The world whipped around him, or maybe it was just the grass.

But Atticus Maris ran for his life, away from the only friend he ever had, away from the wolf-like hunters, away from reality.

He dove, into the grass, let it cover him, protect him. He could hear the Careers, the muffled thunder of their voices, the shots of their guns.

It sure was raining hard.

He thought he heard them say they'd run out of bullets.

He was alive.

Felix wasn't.

Felix, who stole and fought and schemed and hoped and loved and flirted and smirked and grinned and ran and lied and hated and cursed and screamed and _was _was dead.

Atticus' heart beat a death knoll for the boy from District 12.

And then there was silence, except for the rushing of the grasses and that was the worst thing of all.

**This was so hard to write. Tell me what you think.**


	17. Chapter 15

Night slowly crept over the arena. Atticus waited until the anthem played to slowly creep through the grass on his stomach. Inch by inch, he crawled, stalks of grass whipping him in the face. But he kept going.

They showed the pictures of the fallen.

The District 10 girl had died. She was a pretty girl, a little chubby, with thick dark hair.

Her partner was still alive.

Felix wasn't.

Atticus didn't want to watch, but he owed it to him to see him one last time.

They showed his picture next. He had a smirk on his face, his head tilted confidently to the side. Atticus imagined what he would say. _"All the girls will be kissing their TV screens to get a piece of me."_

A long-forgotten piece of trivia rose up. The District 12 sign of respect. Struggling to keep his sobs quiet, Atticus pressed three fingers to his lips and saluted his friend.

How on earth was he going to survive on his own? The nights before he'd met Felix were pure torture, filled with grotesque images of his own death at the hands of the Careers. Now he was left alone in the field of whispering grass.

He had to keep going. It was the only thing that kept him sane. He moved forward, inch by painful inch, trying his hardest not to let the grass make too much noise. He pulled himself forward, the pain of the grass scraping across exposed skin reminding him that, for now, he was alive.

He fell asleep sometime in the endless night and woke when the first colors were being painted across the sky. It was the sixth day of the Twenty Fifth Hunger Games. There were 11 tributes left, and he was one of them.

Atticus raised his head slowly and looked around. His face was sticky with half-dried tears.

Felix.

He'd made it almost to the bluffs. What he would do now, he had no idea. But he didn't see any Careers, which was a good sign. He poked around in his knapsack. Thinking about it now, it would have been a good idea to take the knapsack from Felix. But he didn't think of it, and even if he had, he wasn't sure he could have taken the knapsack from the dead body of his only friend.

Atticus pushed his glasses up. They'd served him well so far in these Games.

A cannon shot rang out and Atticus, startled, slammed down in the grass, heart racing. After a few minutes he looked up. There were no hovercrafts nearby. But someone else was dead.

10 tributes left.

Atticus couldn't stomach the thought of more hard crackers, so he forced down some water and marched across the grasslands. The grass came up past his waist, but he still felt exposed. Nevertheless, the forest had become his enemy, with the train and the bear mutation and Careers with rifles lurking behind trees. He reached the bluffs before noon and sat down to take a break.

This time, he took a few bites of a cracker, washed down with some water. He looked at the bluffs, plotting the best way up. Prowling around the base of the cliff, he found an almost hidden trail behind a thick scrubby bush. It wasn't too steep, and he was able to pull his way up.

On top of the bluff, Atticus could see everything. The train tracks snaked from the desert where the Cornucopia was, through the forest, across the grasslands, and into a tunnel under the bluff. He could make out the faint specks of the Career camp surrounded by rocks. Where the others were, he didn't know.

Atticus trekked across the bluffs, exploring the territory. A few caves gaped from the earth, but he didn't dare go in one. The bluffs were mostly populated by windswept trees and grasses. On the other side, the bluffs swooped down to meet the ocean. Atticus stood there for a long time, letting the sea breeze ruffle his hair. For a moment, he felt home again. He wondered if there were any fish in the ocean. He thought of his father, and how he would get up early to watch the sunrise over the water. Pulling the sea glass from his pocket, he held it up and let it catch the light. The horror of the Games was a distant memory now.

And then he saw the boy walking by the seashore.

Atticus instinctively ducked behind a stunted tree and watched. The boy—Atticus thought he was from District 9—seemed to have fashioned a primitive fishing spear and was searching the ocean for food. Atticus watched him closely to see if his idea had any merits.

It was a gorgeous day. The sunlight danced on the water, and a few fluffy clouds frolicked across the sky. The air was mild and sweet. A beautiful day to die.

The horse emerging from the ocean was copper colored, shining in the sun, with foam clinging to its flanks. The District 9 boy stopped to gawk at this magnificent beast. He slowly approached the horse, one hand held out tentatively. Atticus held his breath. The horse lowered its head and allowed the boy to stroke its mane. The water cloaking the horse reflected the sun, making it almost too bright to look at. Then the tribute slowly climbed on the horse's back, spear falling to the tide. The horse tossed its head back and plunged into the ocean. The boy's scream flew up to Atticus as the horse pulled him under.

The cannon did not sound.

Atticus found that he was biting his knuckles so hard that he was bleeding. An eternity later, the thunder of the cannon rumbled over the arena. Something bobbed in the ocean, red swirling around it. Atticus realized that it was the boy's leg.

He pulled himself into a ball, wrapping his arms around himself. He had witnessed the death of a third tribute. It was almost too much to bear. His thoughts coursed back to Thomas, and the gravity in his dark eyes when he said he wished he hadn't won. How did the twenty-four other victors bear it?

Atticus forced himself up. He had to keep moving or the horrors would overtake him. He found a small nook not too far from where the bluff met the ocean. He liked hearing the roar and crash.

He spent the rest of the day remembering District 4. He thought of Millie's cooking and how Mollusk taught him how to skip rocks. He remembered the way his father's faced creased when he smiled and how praise from him was worth more than anything the Capitol could offer. He thought of the safety of his house by the sea. He remembered daydreaming during tutoring sessions and gazing out over the ocean. He recalled celebrations when the whole district gathered together to laugh and dance and sing. He thought of watching the fishing boats sail out onto open water. He remembered how the drought slowly leeched the life from District 4. He recalled the reaping, which would forever be etched into his memory. He longed for how things used to be and dreamed of a better future.

Atticus looked out through the opening of his small cave to the slowly darkening sliver of sky. The anthem wafted over the arena. Then, the glowing pictures of the fallen were displayed. The cannon he'd heard earlier in the day belonged to the boy from District 5. He had protruding ears and a brutish face. Atticus wondered if the Careers had killed him. Next was the boy from District 9 that Atticus saw die, the one Felix said was messing with the mayor's daughter.

He wondered when his own face would shine in the sky.

**So this one is a little longer. Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! Makes my day! **


	18. Chapter 16

Cannons sounded in Atticus' dreams. He dreamt of Felix, sailing on a boat in stormy weather, his black hair flying in the gales. Atticus screamed for him to come back, but the wind snatched his words away. And then the ocean rose up and swallowed Felix and Atticus and he was sucked under water, water filling his mouth and he couldn't breathe and he tried to scream but he was choking and he didn't know which way was up and—

Atticus wrenched open his eye, gasping for breath. It was Day 7 and he was one of the nine tributes still alive. He wiped his brown and found that he was soaked with sweat, his reddish-brown hair turned dark. Slowly, he pulled himself up and drank some water. He was almost out and he needed more. The ocean, obviously, was salty, and besides, after seeing the homicidal horse from yesterday, he didn't dare go near it.

He checked right and left for any tributes, squinting in the bright sunlight. When he saw that the coast was clear, Atticus pulled himself out and stretched.

"Mags? Can I have some water?" He half expected to see a parachute drifting down, but there was no response. Shrugging his shoulders, Atticus decided to make his way over to where the bluff rose over the grasslands to see if he could see any tributes.

It was warm today, so he rolled up his sleeves, wishing his arms weren't so pale and freckly. All of Panem was watching, after all.

Then a stick cracked behind him and he froze. Squinting, he thought he could make out a figure hiding behind a scraggly bush. The now familiar paralysis was overtaking him. Then, Atticus imagined his father watching him and he forced himself to move. He reached for his knapsack as the figure leaped out from behind the bush, brandishing a long knife that caught the sunlight.

Atticus immediately stuck his hand in his bag, fumbling frantically for his knife. His fingers closed around the handle and the boy lunged. He brought up the knife to meet the attack.

_Come on, Atticus, _he urged himself. _Remember what Mags taught you._

The boy—Atticus thought he was from District 8—was almost twice his size with a huge gold loop in his left ear. As the blades of their knives clashed, Atticus felt the force of the blow reverberate through his body. He sprang back, shoulders aching.

The boy swung again, and as Atticus dodged, he realized that although the boy was strong, his movements were clumsy and untrained. He must have grabbed the first weapon he could lay his hands on. Atticus clamped down his fear and tried to dredge up his memories of what Mags taught him.

The District 8 boy lunged again, and Atticus twisted out of the way. Grunting, the tribute slashed and caught Atticus in the side before he could get out of the way. Atticus let out a scream of pain. He was the mayor's son. No one had ever tried to kill him before.

But his district wanted him to.

This thought gave Atticus the rage to conquer his terror. He blocked the boy's next blow with his knife and with his free hand, grabbed the boy's earring and pulled. The boy screamed in pain and fury, and Atticus turned and bolted, the earring clutched in his hand. He could hear the lumbering steps of the District 8 tribute as he followed.

Atticus halted at the edge of the cliff, looking at the sea of grass below. He whirled around and sidestepped the tribute's blow. Pain had unbalanced the boy, and Atticus shoved him hard, over the edge.

His face was frozen in a mask of shock as he fell. Then he hit the ground in a tangle of broken limbs. Atticus stared at his body, shrouded in the grass. It didn't move. The cannon boomed marked his passing.

Atticus realized he was clutching the earring so hard that it left a line of blood across his palm. He stumbled away from the edge. He'd planned to kill Polus, but this time, he'd actually killed this boy. Shoved him over the edge and watched him fall like a rag doll. Seen how his neck was bent at an impossible angle. Stood frozen as the grass whispered over the body.

The hovercraft drifted down and collected the body. Atticus now would have one kill next to his name. This meant increased sponsors. This meant he was now a murderer.

A parachute drifted down, interrupting his thoughts. Atticus' fingers were shaking as he untied the package. It was a canteen of water, precious water and a note from Mags.

Atticus,

Stay calm. The Careers are staying by the Cornucopia. I don't think they're going to come after you today, but stay up on the bluffs just in case. This is hell, I know it is.

-M

That night, Atticus saw the face of the boy he killed in the sky. Instinctively, he wrapped his fingers around the golden earring.

The next day dawned grey and cloudy. Atticus walked to the edge of the bluffs to watch the train race by. Beyond that, he kept a lookout for Careers, mutations, or anything else that wanted to kill him. Although Felix had said he'd seen Adriana head towards the bluffs, Atticus saw no sign of his district partner. He did scout around a bit to see if there were any animals he could hunt, but he saw nothing, not even tracks or scat. And although he could smell the salt in the air and hear the crashing of the waves, he didn't dare go down to the ocean.

Atticus did manage to find a spring bubbling up from a crack in the earth. He filled his canteens and gulped down the sweet water. The cold, clear water gave him strength. He scooped the water up, washing off his face and his hands. Blood and dirt were caked under his nails. He sat back on his heels, realizing that he had made it to the final eight. They would be interviewing the families of the tributes now. His chest ached as he thought of his father. What would the mayor say?

Atticus stood up and stretched. As he walked away from the stream, he saw a camera peering at him from a hole in a tree. He froze, realizing that all of Panem was watching him. He bent down to the stream, gathered a handful of water in his hands, and flung it at the camera. Smirking at the tiny gemstones of water now clinging to the lens, Atticus sauntered off, feeling very much like Felix.


	19. Chapter 17

Waves gently lapped at the shore. Atticus sighed. It was the ninth day of the Hunger Games. There had been no deaths yesterday, and Atticus was determined to spend this day figuring out some sort of strategy.

First, he decided to count how often the train went by. He counted the seconds to himself, and determined it took approximately 11 minutes for the train to make one lap around the arena.

Next, Atticus tried to figure out where Adriana was. He didn't want to actually run into her, though. He remembered how she'd told him with wild, honest eyes that she wouldn't kill him, but the Games _changed _people, took who you were and twisted it. Atticus carefully crept towards the northern end of the bluffs. The plateau gradually grew steeper, and he was panting before he reached the end. There was less cover here, just a few caves and some scraggy trees. Atticus held his breath and pressed himself against a tree, the rough bark scraping against his narrow back. He'd gotten even skinnier during these Games.

Atticus carefully surveyed the area. Strands of grass clung to the rocky soil. A few stunted trees provided some protection from the wind. Atticus sniffed. Underneath the layers of salt in the air, he thought he could smell smoke. He carefully inched around the tree towards the gaping maw of a cavern. He sniffed again. He could definitely smell smoke.

So this was Adriana's lair. Atticus definitely wasn't going to stick around to say hello. Felix might have wanted to stay and flirt, but the Hunger Games wasn't exactly the best place to pick up a date. He trotted back as quickly as he dared.

It felt weird being so close to Adriana. They both were staying by the ocean, though where she was, the water hurled itself against rocky cliffs to die a violent death. Here, the waves serenely drifted to shore.

The next matter was the boy from District 10. Had he gotten away from the Careers during the desperate flight through the forest punctuated by gunshots? Atticus doubted that—he was definitely slower than Felix, and Felix had…well, he hadn't gotten away. Perhaps the Careers had captured him so he could do their work. It wasn't the first time this had happened, although when tributes were captured by the Careers, they never outlived their usefulness.

Atticus took a quick break to sip some water, unable to escape the thoughts swarming him. The girl from District 7. Training score: 9. How the hell did someone from District 7 get a nine? Although she'd spared him when they met in the forest, Atticus sure didn't trust her.

He hated being alone with his thoughts, constantly on edge for the sound of footsteps or a cannon. The day passed excruciatingly slowly. When the sun set, it marked two days without any deaths. This was a bad sign. When nobody died, the Gamemakers got creative. Nobody wanted to see the Gamemakers get creative. So when the announcement came on the tenth day, Atticus felt a small pit of dread in his stomach.

"Hello, tributes of the first Quarter Quell. Congratulations on making it to the final eight!" Flavia Flint's voice was as plastic as ever. "As it is the first Quarter Quell, we thought we ought to make these Games a little more…special. Are you ready?"


	20. Intermission II

"_Are you ready?"_

_The Capitol audience is very ready. They've just eaten up this year's Games. So wildly creative, they tell each other. So deliciously twisted. They've placed their bets and sponsored their favorites. And they can't wait to see what happens next._

_In the announcer's box, Flavia Flint adjusts her bright yellow wig. She beams at the camera and coats her next sentence with an extra helping of sugar._

"_We are going to have a sort of Hunger Games within the Hunger Games."_

_Atticus' father slumps on the table. Every minute the camera turns away from his son, he is gripped by the worst horror in the world. Already, his hair is turning grey and his hands shake. Millie and Mollusk carefully keep their distance. The people of District 4 shun him._

"_Two tributes will be reaped from the eight tributes left. Volunteers are accepted."_

_Old Lady Harbinger, or the Witch of District 4, smiles to herself. She'd known from the moment her granddaughter's name was called how these Games were going to play out. This twist is nothing new to her._

"_The two tributes will have a duel to the death by the Cornucopia."_

_The president leans back in his leather chair. He reminds himself to congratulate the Gamemakers. These Games are turning out so well. A rebellion will never happen now._

"_And let's begin."_


	21. Chapter 18

Atticus' first thoughts were about the odds. There was a 1 in 4 chance that he'd be reaped and a 1 in 2 chance that he would survive being reaped.

"Our first tribute will be Adriana Harbinger of District 4."

Atticus swallowed. If he was the second tribute chosen, he knew Adriana would have no qualms about killing him.

"Our second tribute," Flavia Flint continued blithely, "is Fletcher Farnsworth of District 10. Do we have any volunteers for any of our special tributes?"

Atticus felt a sharp sense of relief, although he knew his reprieve was only temporary.

"Excellent," boomed Flavia Flint's voice from the sky. "We have a volunteer for Mr. Farnsworth. Congratulations to Senner of District 11!"

This was interesting. He knew Senner was taken up by the Careers, but he couldn't imagine why she'd volunteer for the District 10 boy.

"Hovercrafts are being sent to pick up all tributes in the arena. At high noon, our chosen tributes will duel."

A dark shadow eclipsed the sun as a rope ladder descended from a hovercraft. Atticus carefully grabbed hold of it and pulled himself up. There was no one in the hovercraft room, not even any furniture, and Atticus had to fight to keep himself calm. He felt painfully filthy next to the blinding whiteness of the walls. It was a perfect cube. Had this hovercraft picked up the dead bodies of tributes? Polus? Felix? Atticus wanted to retch, spoil the cleanliness of this room. But the hovercraft lurched under his feet, and soon they were soaring.

Atticus tried to imagine that they were taking him away from these Games, that it was all just a horrible mistake, that his district didn't really want him to die. He wrapped his arms around his knees, his knuckles white with the pressure. He just wanted to go home.

The hovercraft deposited him inside a log cabin. He stood, shaking. There was a hand-made quilt on the wall, and a rickety table and chairs, but no weapons or food of any sort. Atticus tried the handle on the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"Welcome to the Games within the Games! At high noon, exactly the doors to your cabins will open and you will sit on your porches to observe the duel. Our two special tributes will be fighting with whatever weapons they previously had. The winner's District will receive a small amount of extra food."

Atticus hoped that Adriana won. The thought of drought-riddled District 4 receiving a little food was amazing. But he knew this would not be a motivating factor to Adriana. A horrible thought occurred to him—would she lose on purpose to spite her district? No, Adriana valued her own life too much. She would survive, no matter the cost.

A gong sounded and the cabin doors swung open. Atticus hurried to the doorway to peer out side. To his right, Juno emerged regally from her cabin, looking none the worse for ten days without a shower. Julius lounged on a rocking chair on his porch. Iri trotted out, plunked down, and began to sharpen her eyes. Next to her, Fletcher slumped out, pale and shaking, looking like he was about to throw up. Atticus thought for a second that there was no one on his left, but when he looked again, Sparrow, the girl from 7, was hiding in the shadows. He swallowed hard.

It was an idyllic scene: six log cabins arranged around the Cornucopia, while a thick forest sprawled in the background, bluff rising behind it.

And then the picturesque landscape exploded into action.

Senner, head down like a bull, dark hair whipping behind her, charged towards the Cornucopia. She fired a few shots from the rifle she gripped over her shoulder.

Atticus felt a pang of fear—could the bullets hit him? And then he saw the bullets bounce back from Julius' cabin. They were protected by force fields.

_Glad to see the Capitol cares so much for our safety._

Adriana darted out to meet her opponent. She ducked behind the Cornucopia, facing Atticus. Winking at him, she danced to the end and fired a few quick shots from her pistol before taking cover again.

From the other end, Senner jumped on top of the Cornucopia. Atticus was beginning to see why the Careers had accepted her. She was powerful and fast, muscles rippling over her lean body.

Adriana hissed as Senner leaped down. She stumbled back and fired a few quick shots before Senner hurled a knife at her head. Adriana spun away, shooting over her shoulder.

The girls were now at opposite sides of the new arena, circling around each other like cats. Suddenly, Senner's hands jerked, whip like, to her rifle, and Adriana had to dive down to avoid being shot.

Senner smirked as Adriana picked herself up from the dirt. "Had enough?" she taunted.

"Feeling lucky, bitch?" Adriana replied, tossing her head. Her back was to Atticus now, dark hair flying around her head like a halo. She fired at Senner, and dodged the answering bullets. The girls danced around the arena, dodging the constant swarm of bullets until Adriana tried to fire and the only response was a pathetic click. She glanced around frantically, but she was backed up against the iron side of the Cornucopia. Trapped.

This was the worst thing about the Hunger Games. Forced to watch as children were slaughtered. He'd had to stand by helplessly as Felix died, then run away from his lifeless body. He couldn't bear to see Adriana executed like this.

Senner looked positively psychotic now as she raised the rifle like a hunter poised to make a kill. "Goodbye, dear."

"How many bullets do you have left?" Adriana asked, grey eyes wild. "You might not have any."

"Or I might not. Do you like your chances?" Senner focused in on the District 4 girl, eyes narrowed in concentration, breathing steady. She took a deep breath, then pulled the trigger.


	22. Chapter 19

The Careers leaned forward like wolves who had scented blood. Fletcher curled into a ball, head in his hands. Atticus wanted to scream or do _something _but he couldn't move.

Senner's lips curled back in glee as Adriana stared defiantly at her. But her expression changed to confusion when all that came from her rifle was a pathetic click. Snarling in rage, she swung the butt of her rifle towards Adriana's head.

Atticus had nearly collapsed in relief when he saw that Senner had run out of bullets. Now, he clung to the supports of the porch just to stay upright as Adriana countered Senner's attack with her whip. Senner howled as the whip cracked across her skin.

Julius slammed his hand against the wall of the cabin when he saw that Adriana was still alive. Iri curled her lip in scorn. Juno, however, stared unblinkingly at the violent scene that unfurled around them.

Senner was quick on her feet, though. Atticus wondered how she got so good when she was from one of the poorest districts. But Adriana was good, too—she ruthlessly countered Senner's blows with her rifle.

Senner resorted to throwing knives, lobbing the steel missiles of death at Adriana's advancing form. They both seemed powerful and unstoppable. How long could this fight go on before they tore the earth apart?

At one end, Adriana was a wild storm, mercilessly wielding her whip which swirled around her like lightning. At the other, Senner was fierce predator, hurling knives with vicious precision.

Atticus could barely breathe as he watched the fight. It seemed like Senner was getting the upper hand, as her knives whizzed past, some faster than Adriana could dodge. Adriana was bleeding hard, but her eyes were grim and determined as she snapped her whip.

And then Senner had Adriana backed against the force field in front of Atticus' cabin. Atticus noticed how Adriana's hair curled when it was pressed against the force field.

"It's over for real," Senner taunted, slowly caressing Adriana's face with the knife. "Any last words."

"Tricked you," Adriana said. As Senner blinked in confusion, Adriana pulled out her pistol and shot Senner. The District 11 girl hadn't hit the ground before her cannon sounded.

"Always have an extra shot," Adriana admonished. She turned around and faced the Careers defiantly. Julius and Iri were on their feet raring for revenge.

"Congratulations to Adriana Harbinger, winner of the duel!"

"Do I get a crown?" Adriana asked.

"You get a 30 minute head start before the other tributes can leave their cabins."

Adriana whirled around, her eyes meeting Atticus' for a brief second before dashing over the wall into the woods. A hovercraft slowly pulled in to take away Senner's body.

Atticus didn't know how Adriana could run after what she'd just been through, or what she wanted from him. He did know it was going to be like the Bloodbath all over again. Would the Careers try to chase her or kill the other tributes?

30 minutes to wait. He walked inside the cabin to avoid the hungry looks Julius and Iri were wearing. He fumbled in his knapsack and drank some water with shaky hands in a futile attempt to calm himself down.

Should he try to help Adriana? He needed an ally, and despite everything, he trusted her. She was dangerous. But she could help him survive.

After a while, Atticus walked back on to the porch. The Careers seemed to be trying to communicate, but apparently the force fields were soundproof. All he could see was the moving of their lips. Nevertheless, he watched as they gestured, trying to glean their strategy.

They seemed to want to go after Adriana. Julius kept gesturing angrily over the wall, and Iri was nodding. Juno scanned the arena, glancing over Fletcher derisively, before nodding. He couldn't see Sparrow at all.

"Tributes, you have 60 seconds!"

Already? Atticus gasped for breath. This was it. Again.

Flavia Flint counted down and when she reached zero, the arena exploded into action.

Atticus raced around his cabin to try to throw off any pursuers, and then back in. He peered out the window. Sparrow was nowhere to be seen, and the Careers were busily making their way over the wall. Iri was dragging Fletcher behind him. So he had been forced to join the Careers. Interesting.

Atticus slowly exited the cabin and climbed on the roof. He could see the tiny Career group racing towards the woods. Taking a deep breath, he clambered down from the roof and fumbled his way over the wall.

He decided to find Adriana. Really, that was the only option he had.

Where would she go?

The answer was simple: back on the bluff.

Back on the bluff, where she knew the territory, where the Careers might not guess she had gone. Back on the bluff, where the wind whipped through the trees, and caves gaped from the earth, and rocks ripped the ocean to threads.

If she was going there, then Atticus had to go there, too. Without running into the Careers, a mutation, or the train. This was going to be interesting.

Atticus followed the train tracks through the forest, stopping to hide behind trees. Finding Adriana gave him a purpose. If he just focused on that, he could block out everything else.

He pushed on during the anthem, Senner's face glaring down at him from the sky. It felt weird, being back in the forest. The last time he was here was with Felix.

Atticus was scared that he would run into Careers, so he holed up in a tree for the night. He was close to the grasslands. The train rushed by in the middle of the night, causing the branches to shake and waking Atticus up. He stayed awake for awhile, heart pounding. But when the train returned eleven minutes later, he was fast asleep.


	23. Chapter 20

Atticus pulled himself up the last foot of the bluff. He'd woken before dawn today, and had all but sprinted across the grasslands, half-expecting to hear a gunshot and be struck down. But he'd made it up here, just as the sun was breaking through the clouds and coating everything in a layer of gold.

The only question was, had the Careers made it up here also?

Atticus gripped his knife tightly. It seemed like it fit better in his hands now. He held it out in front of him as he cautiously moved forwards. There was little cover here, so theoretically he should be able to hear the Careers sneaking up on him. However, in his experience, the Games rarely conformed to theory. And Juno—she was clearly not another vapid blonde. Did she have an elaborate trap set for him?

By the time he made it to where Adriana had been camping, he was a bundle of nerves, jumping at the sound of the wind. Now that he was here, he had no idea how to approach. What if Adriana mistook him for a Career and shot him? Or even worse, what if she _didn't _mistake him for a Career but still shot him? Atticus took a deep breath, fingering the sea glass in his pocket. Adriana hadn't forgotten District 4. The fact that she was by the ocean proved it. They were in this together.

He inched closer.

"Adriana?" he called softly.

No response.

"Are you here? It's me, Atticus."

He was jerked back violently and pinned against a dry tree stump, cold metal at the base of his throat. He feebly tried to slash with his knife, and then realized that his assailant had taken his knife. Fear rushed through him like an ocean wave.

"Are you with _them?"_

It was Adriana! Atticus felt incredible relief. But her voice sounded older and wearier, like she hadn't used it in a while.

"No! I came here by myself. I thought we could be allies, since they're hunting you down."

Adriana scoffed. "They've got 10 working for them, the coward. Their cronies never last long."

"That's why I'm not working for them."

"Good answer." The pressure at his throat was suddenly released, and Atticus stumbled free.

Adriana pushed her dark curls away from her face and glared at him. Atticus couldn't talk. They were so close to the end. But seven more would die.

Including one of them.

"So I'm guessing you're not inviting me out to tea," Adriana drawled.

Atticus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I-I just thought we could maybe be allies? Because the Careers are trying to hunt you down, but I don't think they know where you are. Just that you ran towards the forest."

Adriana considered this. "But you knew where I was."

"I saw your camp from earlier. I figured you would come back here. I was staying here before the duel."

Adriana scuffed her boot in the dirt. Atticus wondered if she was going to talk about the duel. But she didn't.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked, and Atticus was reminded of Felix asking him the exact same question.

"I'll think of one. We did take down Polus, after all."

Instead of congratulating him on eliminating the huge District 2 tribute, Adriana cocked her head and asked, "Who's 'we'?"

Atticus felt a sudden ache in his chest, like a trap had closed around his heart. "Felix and me."

"District 12? I saw his face in the sky."

Atticus pushed down his grief. "They're going to come. We have to have a plan."

Adriana raised an eyebrow. "Listen. It's nice that you came to help and all, but there's seven of us left. I don't want it to come down to you and me. And I can take care of myself. I saved you at the Bloodbath, you know."

He did know. "You're injured."

Adriana smirked. "Thomas sent me some bandages. I'm okay now."

Atticus tried not to flinch at Thomas' name. "So now what?"

"Well, I can fight. So if they come—"  
"There's three of them and one of you. I don't think that's going to work."

Adriana swore. "Do you have a better plan?"

"We should at least be ready. We can keep watch by the edge of the cliff. I know a place we can watch without being seen. If we can slow them down enough so you can fight them one on one, that might work."

"How'd you take care of Polus? He's three times your size?"

It was more like four times, but Atticus appreciated her tactfulness. They spent a while swapping stories of the Games. Adriana told him about the Bloodbath, and how the Careers caught a lot of tributes when they went over. She'd stayed long enough to get some decent weapons. She didn't mention how many she'd killed.

Atticus told her about the cabins and his alliance with Felix. Adriana said she'd seen the Careers hunt down the District 5 boy, just like they'd killed Felix and the District 10 girl. Atticus described the horse mutation that had killed the District 9 boy, and his fight with the District 8 boy. As he spoke, he absentmindedly fingered the earring he'd torn off.

"Over the cliff," Adriana said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Over the cliff. That's what you did to 8. You can't fight, but you defeated him. We just have to outwit the Careers."

This was easier said than done. But every second, Atticus could hear the footsteps of the Careers getting closer in his mind. The agony of the unknown tormented him.

He and Adriana spent the rest of the day fortifying the bluffs. Atticus used a piece of rope Adriana had to make a trip wire. He attached metal bullet casings so it would rattle and alert them to intruders. Adriana rigged a knife to swing down when a Career triggered a trip line.

When night fell, they were resigning themselves to stale beef jerky when a parachute, glowing in the moonlight, drifted down. Adriana ripped it open eagerly.

"Oh. It's for you." She tossed the note over, and Atticus fumbled to catch it.

Remember what I did. Stay strong.

-M

For a horrible second, Atticus thought Mags wanted him to betray his ally like she did. Then he remembered how Mags had woven elaborate traps based on her skills as a fisher. But he had no idea how to make a net.

"Oooh, _fresh _beef jerky. And more of those damned crackers. How depressing is it that this is the last meal of twenty-three kids."

"Adriana," Atticus said slowly. "You're a fisher, aren't you?"

"Yeah, my grandmother taught me, then I did it myself?"

"How good are you at making nets?"

"Decent, why?" Then comprehension dawned. "Oh, gosh. Like, Mags, right? Damn, Atticus, I don't know if I can do that."

"We have to try _something. _The Careers haven't come yet, which either means they can't find us or they're plotting something."

Adriana tore into the beef jerky. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

Atticus was beginning to realize that the parachutes came when he did something smart, like figured out the train tracks or defeated the District 8 boy. It made him feel like a trained dog.

Atticus munched the beef jerky. It was tasteless. Suddenly, he just wanted to go home and be in his father's arms. He wanted these Games to be over. But they weren't. Far from it. Six more tributes had to die.


	24. Chapter 21

On the edge of the bluff, where the sea threw itself against the rocky coast, they talked about District 4. It was just what Atticus needed. He had to remember his old life, that things hadn't always been this way. That there were still people who laughed and breathed and thought and dreamed outside of the Hunger Games.

"I was the one who fished. My grandmother made medicines. She helped lots of people, like Jenne Wainwright's baby and Michael Rudder's father. But they turned against her. Bastards." Adriana picked up a rock and savagely hurled it into the ocean. She sighed, dropping her hands in her lap, and continued. "They didn't like me either. They said I was consorting with dark spirits. I never consorted with anyone though. But I learned how to fight." She didn't say how or why, but Atticus could imagine.

"So, tell me, how was it like growing up as the mayor's son?"

Before Atticus could answer, they heard loud shouts coming from across the bluffs, and the ominous rumble of the train. Adriana sprang to her feet and dashed towards the grasslands, one hand on her pistol. Thomas had sent a parachutes with extra bullets this morning.

Atticus hurried behind his district partner, stumbling to a halt at the end of the cliff. He gulped. The Careers were waiting for the train to race by, and they were shoving Fletcher out. Atticus felt nauseous. Were they going to kill him?

No, Juno seemed to be gesturing towards the train. As the train clattered by, Fletcher launched himself on the side of the train. Atticus couldn't believe it. Adriana cursed under her breath. "What the hell are they doing?"

For a heartbeat, Fletcher was victorious on the side of the train. Julius' loud whoop drifted up to where the District 4 tributes were. But then Fletcher's grip was shaken and he fell. The train raced over his body. The train's final gift was the cannon fire

Atticus pressed his hand over his mouth as the Careers raced across the plains to the District 10 boy's ruined body. All the blood had drained from Adriana's face.

"What the _hell _were they trying to do?"

Atticus could only shake his head. He watched as the Careers seemed to be regrouping. "Doubt they'll be coming after us today."

"That train—I don't like it."

But Atticus was fascinated by it. The sheer power, the incredible speed. The clouds of dark smoke lazily drifted across the grasslands. The railroad tracks sparkled in the afternoon sun. If a tribute could harness that power, they would be as unstoppable as the train itself.

On the twelfth day of the Hunger Games, the Careers came for them at midnight. Atticus was woken by a harsh scream. Their traps had worked. Adriana had spent yesterday afternoon weaving elaborate nets with Atticus' help. She'd gotten impatient with him quite a few times, but it had paid off in the end. Atticus bolted up, frantically grasping for his knife. Adriana was already on her feet, eyes shining in the moonlight, pistol cocked.

"We have to run!" Atticus whispered, fighting to keep his voice level.

Adriana shook her head, curls whipping across her face like tangles of smoke. "We have to make our stand!"

Atticus felt trapped here. "It's dark. We'll probably end up going over the cliffs ourselves if we try to fight. We're outnumbered and I'm useless."

Adriana snarled, but they were interrupted by another yell. This one sounded much closer. Atticus snatched up his knapsack and ran, fumbling in the dark for the escape route they'd planned. After a few minutes of desperately scrambling down the cliff, scraping himself on rocks, he could hear Adriana coming down after him.

They bolted across the plains, the grass grasping at their ankles. The only sound was their heaving breaths and the rough sound of grass scraping against their legs. Atticus nearly tripped over the train tracks.

Atticus collapsed against a giant oak tree, desperately fighting to catch his breath. Adriana merely seemed winded.

"Did you hear any cannons?" she demanded.

In all honesty, Atticus was far too worried about his own life to think about others' deaths. However, he managed to gasp out "No."

"Exactly. We should have stayed and fought."

Atticus wanted to point out that it would be three on one, since he didn't stand a chance, and that the Careers had trained all their live for this, while she was a mere fisher. Yes, she'd defeated Senner, but Senner, while strong and crafty, was from District 11, not a Career in the truest sense. However, he could tell that Adriana was out for blood and not prepared to listen to reason.

"We…would have…died."

She snorted. "I don't intend on dying here. I'm going to go back and make District 4 pay. Isn't that what you want to do?"

It wasn't, not really. He knew District 4 had put him in as justice for his father avoiding his fate, but every year, two of their own were slaughtered to repay the Capitol for the sins their parents had committed. None of the tributes from any district had fought in the rebellion. It was their fathers and mothers. Yet the children were forced to pay the price. Atticus blamed the system and the Capitol's twisted logic instead of the desperate people of District 4.

"Well?"

"No," he said shortly, turning away. He prowled deeper into the forest, trying to find a place to stay. He knew that the Careers were somewhere on the bluffs, but Sparrow was somewhere in this forest. The knowledge made his skin prickle. He didn't trust Sparrow. The District 7 girl seemed lethal and merciless. He wondered why she was here.

Adriana followed him and wordlessly climbed a tree. Atticus crawled up a maple and peered around, but saw no one. He fell asleep, feeling more alone than ever.

**Thanks to all who have reviewed/favorited/followed my humble story. You are awesome! Keep being that way.**


	25. Chapter 22

"Look. We need to go our separate ways. It's time."

Atticus nodded. He finished swallowing his cracker and wiped his mouth slowly.

"You're going to go after the Careers."

Adriana nodded. "I'm going to plan my strategy and then get them before they can get me."

Atticus felt empty inside. "Guess it's good to split up before we're the last two."

Adriana pressed her lips together. "I hope I don't see you again." It was harsh, but Atticus hoped it too.

"I…think you understand me the best. I dunno if it's cause you're from District 4 or if it's cause they betrayed you like they betrayed me, but…" She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, guess this is good-bye, Atticus. Hope your strategy works out."

He wanted to win, purely because it meant he could go home. But his winning would mean Adriana's death. Besides, it was impossible for a scrawny kid with glasses to defeat three highly trained Careers.

"Adriana."

She turned, looking at him over her shoulder.

"I was allies with Felix, and anyways, he said he would have liked to meet you. He said you were hot. I just thought I should tell you." Damn, that was awkward

She smiled. He hadn't seen her smile. Smirk, yes, or a vicious grin, but a joyful smile, no. "He tried to tell me that earlier."

Atticus could only imagine how _that _went over.

Suddenly, Adriana came over and kissed him on the cheek. His face burned bright red in front of all of Panem. "So long, kid."

"Bye!" Atticus called. He hoped it worked out for her. But he just wanted to go home.

When his second ally had vanished between the trees, Atticus leaned up against an oak.

"Father?" he called softly. "Father, I hope they're showing this and you're watching, but I want to let you know that I love you, even though we never really said it. And I really want to come home. But if I don't…" He swallowed painfully. "If I don't, don't be aloof from District 4 anymore. You know what it's like for them now. That's all. I miss you, Father."

There was nothing left but to keep going. He had no strategy now, just a desperate hope that somehow events would unfurl in his favor.

He watched the train. Every eleven minutes, the earth would shake and dead leaves would drift down from tree branches and the grass would quiver in anticipation and the iron beast would blaze by.

Atticus had to get on it.

He didn't know how without getting ripped in half like the District 10 boy, but he knew that if he could tame the train, he could win the Games.

It was hard to keep an eye out for other tributes as he watched the train, so he hid himself behind trees and foliage. He tracked through the forest, watching its route carefully. His heart raced in time with the rhythm of the train.

When it was evening, he found it. When the train curved around a gigantic oak tree, it slowed. For a heartbeat, but it slowed. Just enough, that maybe, Atticus could pull himself into a car.

The knowledge thrilled him. With this, he had a chance. As if to confirm his elation, a parachute floated down from the sky. Atticus smiled. Mags knew him well.

It is close. Be strong and trust yourself.

-M

Inside were dried apple slices. Atticus nearly dropped the package in surprise. Finally something that wasn't beef jerky or those awful crackers! He climbed the oak tree, gnawing on the dried apple.

Night fell, but remembering the Career attack, Atticus was still wary. However, when dawn broke, he was still alive. Day fourteen.

Today, he was going to board the train.


	26. Chapter 23

Perhaps this was insane. In fact, it likely was, and he was cracking from the stress of fourteen days in a fight to the death. But, Atticus assured himself, if he was to die it would be quick and it would be because of his own actions. He would not be defeated by a Career.

He quickly ate a breakfast of tasteless crackers and leftover apple slices. With food now in his stomach, Atticus swung his knapsack over his back and waited for the arrival of the train. He didn't have to wait long. The earth started trembling, and soon the iron monster had rushed by.

Pushing up his glasses, Atticus carefully observed the velocity of the train. He would board it the next time it came around. He took a deep breath and bounced to the balls of his feet. This was exactly the type of plan Felix would approve of.

All too soon, the trees began rustling and the ground shivered. Atticus braced himself. The train was plunging towards him. Sending up a desperate prayer to whomever was listening, Atticus charged forwards and grabbed on to the train car just before the train whipped around the corner. The wind pressed against his face, and he could barely breathe. The slight slowing of its momentum allowed Atticus to yank open the car door and tumble inside. He slammed it shut before he could be pulled out.

It occurred to Atticus that there could be a mutation in this car. He looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. A tiny window on the opposite side let a thin stream of light into the car. There was fierce beast, just a dusty floor and a crate in one corner. Atticus took his knife out and pried open the top with his blade. It was packed full of provisions, including dried apples and what looked like cookies. Ecstatic, Atticus bit in to one. The sweet taste overcame his mouth.

Atticus stood up, swaying with the force of the train, and looked out the window. The arena flashed before his eyes. He could hardly believe that he, Atticus Maris of District 4, was on the train.

Now, he just had to wait. No other tribute could possibly get on the train. Eventually, they would kill each other, and he would be the only one left. He leaned back with great satisfaction.

It was hard to hear over the rumbling of the train, but he thought he could hear the sounds of fighting. He scrambled up and peered out the window. Adriana was fighting Julian on the edge of the grasslands. The wind whipped her hair back into a halo. As Atticus watched, terrified for his district partner, Julius, swinging a knife, advanced on Adriana, who was desperately trying to counter his attacks with her whip.

The train had almost reached them. Barely thinking, Atticus smashed the window with a sack of crackers—_at least they're good for something—_and hurled them out the opening. They hit Julian in the back of the head, giving Adriana enough time to scramble for a pistol in the grass and shoot him. The gunshot was followed by a cannon.

Adriana turned to watch the train, face alight with joy, and Atticus waved at her. Then a dark shape emerged from the forest, and Atticus screamed at her, but the wind snatched away his words. Iri drew back one tattooed arm and plunged a knife into Adriana's back. Atticus screamed as the tiny shape of Adriana disappeared from view. A cannon rang and Atticus cursed it.

The words meant nothing.


	27. Chapter 24

Rage overtook Atticus, and he screamed his heart out, cursing the train and the Careers and the Capitol and District 4 and himself. He threw himself at the walls of the train car and beat his fists against the wall. Why was Adriana dead? He screamed all the words he'd learned from Felix and Adriana until his voice was hoarse.

When the storm had passed, he curled up in a ball in the corner of the train car, and cried until there were no tears left. If he hadn't waved to her, if he'd convinced her to stay with him, if they'd never teamed up, if she hadn't been picked for the duel, if he and Felix had killed more of the Careers, if her grandmother wasn't a witch, if District 4 had just chosen someone else, Adriana Harbinger would still be alive.

He wanted to tear the Careers apart, make them suffer. They'd killed the only two friends he'd ever had. They should feel what he was feeling.

Night came, making his prison pitch-black. He forced himself to stand when Adriana's picture was shown in the sky. Her chin was tilted up defiantly. A rebel even in death. Atticus didn't know what to say. Adriana wouldn't want some sappy gesture, but _somebody _needed to pay honor to her. Atticus stared at her picture until it faded.

"I will win, Adriana. You didn't so I will."

He hadn't wanted to win, before. He knew it was impossible. But now…there were four tributes left and he was one of them. He had a chance. He would take it.

Atticus plotted in his train car. Four left. He'd never, not from the moment his name fell from Augustus Whiteshine's lips in front of District 4, imagined that he would make it to the final four. But in the end, it didn't matter if you were the first one to die or the last one to die. You still died.

Before, Atticus would have wanted to die, quietly fade away. His own animalistic sense of survival had only brought him so far. He was beginning to think there were worse things than dying. And there were. And he had witnessed the deaths of two of his friends and lived with terror night and day. But he owed it to his friends, his father, and his district, his back-stabbing, cowardly, desperate district, to win.

Three to die.

Iri had killed Adriana, stabbed her in the back and laughed as she crumpled, dark red washing over her chest. The District 2 girl was terrifying in a way the others weren't. Her tattoos were hypnotizing and her smile was brutal.

Sparrow had stayed out of the Games. Atticus had no idea where she was or what she was going to do. Yet she'd spared his life. That had to count for something. He didn't know why, but she'd looked him in the eyes and spared him. He still didn't trust her.

Juno was untouchable. Atticus could tell she was wickedly smart. An iron queen. She had to have a chink in her armor, a fatal flaw, but Atticus couldn't find one. She'd managed to keep in the background, yet she'd orchestrated several successful attacks by the Careers. How the hell was a skinny, sheltered District 4 boy supposed to beat this goddess who'd trained all her life for just this?

That was a very good question.

Atticus didn't have a clue.

He decided to wait. There was nothing left.

He imagined his father watching him. What was he thinking, now that the Games had claimed his son in his place? Atticus knew that if his grandfather hadn't intervened, fate would have taken his father, and Atticus himself would never exist. Atticus wasn't supposed to even be alive, much less in the final four of the Hunger Games.

Sparrow showed her deadliness the next day. As the train was whipping through the forest, the trees reduced to a green blur, Atticus caught a glimpse of Juno and Iri walking through the woods, rifles ready. The immense amount of noise that the train was making made it quite easy for Sparrow to slip through the trees unnoticed, drop down, and slit Iri's throat. Atticus pressed his hand tight over his mouth as Sparrow vanished again in the treetops. Juno whirled around almost immediately and fired her rifle into the treetops, but there was no answering cannon to her gunshots. Atticus craned his neck, watching the two Careers huddled together as the train erased them from his sight. A few minutes later, a cannon sounded.

Iri's face hung in the sky that night, sneering down at the survivors. Adriana's killer was dead. That didn't mean anything, though. Atticus knew the real killer of his friends was the Capitol, orchestrating these twisted Games to punish children for the sins of their fathers.

Day 17.

When Atticus woke up, he knew with an absolute certainty, that something was going to happen. The Gamemakers were going to force the three tributes together and put on a show for the Capitol audience.

Atticus ate his breakfast. The food tasted like sawdust (not that he'd eaten sawdust, but he could imagine the flavor) and congealed into a hard lump in his stomach. He slung his knapsack over his back, waiting for _something _to happen. But what, he didn't know.

Sweat beaded on his nose and puddled in his armpits. His breaths grew shallower and shallower. Atticus tapped his toes, his heart racing frantically. The air in the train car grew warmer and drier. He touched the metal of the window frame and jerked his hand away immediately. It was burning! He had a puckered pink scar on the palm of his hand. This wasn't just his nerves. The train was heading into a fire!

He had to get out immediately. He leaned his head out the window and saw angry slashes of fire in the distance. The window was too small to climb out of. He would have to go out the door. Atticus steeled himself for the task and pried the door open. He was greeted by a blast of blistering hot air. Atticus squeezed his eyes shut, the ground blurring below his feet. If he didn't jump, he was going to be roasted alive.

Eyes streaming, Atticus leaped from the train car and tumbled on the ground. The fall knocked the breath out of him. He scrambled to his feet, disoriented. The train was long gone, but a wall of fire was closing in, searing his skin.

He ran, feet pounding. He stumbled over a tree branch and felt a searing pain in his ankle, but he kept on running. He risked a glance behind him. The flames were still racing hungrily after him.

He was nearing the Cornucopia. There must be other tributes nearby. But Atticus would rather face his competitors than the wall of fire. Ignoring the stitch in his side and the gnawing ache in his chest, Atticus sprinted onwards. He could see the glint of the Cornucopia. So close.

And then a shape dropped down from the trees in front of him.

There was nowhere to run. Atticus could feel the flames darting forward behind him, the heat already searing his back. He gripped his knife, the sweat from his hands making it almost impossible to hold.

It was Sparrow. She cocked her head to the side. This was it. She was going to kill him like she killed Iri.

"It's unfortunate," she said in her lilting voice, "but you look just like my little brother."

Atticus' throat was as dry as a desert.

Sparrow smiled, flames dancing in her eyes. "That's why I didn't kill you. And that's why I'm going to tell you this. You can rise up. Rebel, and win this time."

Atticus shook his head frantically. The fire claimed a maple next to them, and sparks and ash rained down.

"What happened to your brother?" he whispered.

Sparrow looked positively deadly. "They killed him. For what I found out. They killed him and sent me here, and I know they're not going to let me win."

"The fire…"Atticus whispered from dry and crackling lips.

"You have to listen!" Sparrow insisted. "Someone else has to know!" She grabbed him, and whispered in his ear four harsh words.

Atticus' mind spun as he stumbled away. Sparrow looked at him, deadly and beautiful, her dark hair still shiny.

Atticus' legs remembered how to run, and he ran, away from the fire. The Cornucopia was so close—just a little farther.

Sparrow dashed past him, in the part of the forest that was empty of flames. Atticus willed himself to go faster, get away from the blistering heat, no matter if Juno was waiting for him at the Cornucopia with her gun.

He burst out of the forest, gasping for air. Sparrow darted ahead across the rocky desert towards the stone wall around the Cornucopia. And then, out of nowhere, a fireball scorched down from the sky, and claimed the tribute of District 7.


	28. Chapter 25

Sparks soared upwards from the fireball's impact. Atticus, choking on ash, staggered backwards. What the hell had just happened? The Gamemakers had deliberately and directly killed a tribute. They weren't relying on mutts to do their dirty work or taking a chance with a natural disaster. They'd _targeted_ her.

And that's how Atticus knew Sparrow was telling the truth.

Her cannon was lost in the fiery chaos as Atticus tripped across the desert, too exhausted to try to dodge rocks. At long last, he leaned against the stone wall around the Cornucopia, gasping for air.

Where was Juno? It was just the two of them now. The fire seemed to be retreating into the woods now. A bad sign—that meant he and Juno were close enough to kill each other now.

Atticus pulled himself to his feet, every muscle aching. Ash had covered the sun. The ground rumbled, and Atticus squinted bleary-eyed into the distance. The train was coming.

_But it had gone straight into the fire, _Atticus thought, dazed. Yet it was barreling towards him, clouds of dust and soot in its wake. Atticus' hair blew back as the train rushed by.

Juno.

She could be anywhere. Atticus scanned the forest. She was going to kill him. He knew it. His heart beat, thrashing in his chest like a dying fish, pointlessly pumping life through his body. He lurched away from the wall, eyes darting around the arena.

And then he realized that Juno _wanted _his panic. She was clever and lethal and she wanted him to scare himself silly waiting for her to strike. And then, the world slowed down as Atticus realized Juno's fatal flaw. Her arrogance. She was smart enough to track tributes through the arena to hunt them down like prey and deadly enough to have earned a 10 in training, but she'd underestimated the skinny boy from District 4. She wanted him to piss his pants and fall apart. She expected him to. She thought he'd survived by chance, and maybe he had, but Atticus knew that Juno was making a grave mistake in dismissing him.

She'd already dismissed him the night he and Felix killed Polus, when she shot an arrow when Atticus was hiding by the Careers' campfire. She thought that if any tribute was hiding, they'd panic when she fired the arrow. But Atticus hadn't made a sound. And when she and the others hunted him and Felix, they hadn't expected him to get away. They'd probably assumed he'd died and his cannon had been lost amidst the gunshots. But he survived. And when they tracked down him and Adriana, they weren't expecting traps. But Atticus' plan worked and they escaped.

He could do this. For Adriana and Felix and Sparrow and Mags and his father and even for Thomas. He would survive this.

An arrow flashed by, missing his face by a breath. Smart, not to use a gun. This maintained the element of surprise.

Atticus ducked, frantically scanning the tree line. Another arrow winged its way towards him, and he rolled to the ground, inching his way to the other side of the stone wall. Two more came in rapid succession, and one lodged itself in Atticus' upper arm. Pain shot through him, and he gritted his teeth. He threw himself behind the stone wall just in time to escape an onslaught of arrows.

He panted, trying to calm himself down. There was an arrow in his arm. An arrow. In. His. Arm. The pain rose up like a tidal wave, and it was all he could focus on. He had to calm down. If he panicked, he would die. He turned his attention to the arrow. Should he pull it out? Experimentally, he tugged on it. Darkness spotted behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw and pulled. It came out, tearing his flesh and sending daggers of agony throughout his body, but that didn't matter. If he won, the Capitol would fix it. If he lost, well, a scar would be the least of his worries.

Atticus' ears pricked. He hadn't seen an arrow for awhile. Where was Juno? And then a bullet shattered the stone a few feet away from him. _Juno doesn't have that bad aim, _he thought, and then he realized Juno was trying to flush him out.

Atticus didn't have a gun, just a couple of knives and his food. The crackers were almost like bullets, he thought ironically, and then before he could even think, he hurled a biscuit with all his might towards the tree line. It exploded into dust as Atticus vaulted over the stone wall. Juno realized she'd been tricked immediately, and as Atticus landed, he felt a searing pain in his left ankle.

He'd been shot. Again. He tried to put weight on his foot, but the pain was so immense he nearly passed out. So this was how he was going to die, slowly shot to bits as he futilely tried to hide. He fumbled his way into the Cornucopia, searching hysterically for a way out. His frenzied fists were met with solid iron.

Atticus stumbled out. Juno was going to come in after him, and then it would be all over. He was bleeding, almost unconscious with pain, and utterly exhausted from seventeen days in the Games, but somehow, deep inside him, he knew he had to keep going on.

At first, Atticus thought he was hallucinating when he saw the parachute drift down from the sky. It landed on the east side of the stone wall. Half-crazy with pain, Atticus threw himself towards the parachute over the wall, unwrapping it with bloody fingers.

Inside was a single copper penny.

**Alright, my story is coming to an end. If you review and tell me your favorite (or least favorite) character, I will give you a special shout-out in my last chapter. So please review. Many thanks! :)**


	29. Intermission III

_All around the Capitol, bets are made, livings are staked, and money changes hands. The final two. The girl, many have said, is a shoo-in. Gorgeous, intelligent, strong—she is the ideal victor. But others point out that the boy made it to the final two for a reason. And so the people of the Capitol nibble their perfectly manicured nails and play with their neon hair and watch the Games unfold._

_Fourteen years ago, Mags was in the very same position that her boy is in now. She remembers the terror fading away, replaced by the cold knowledge that she was going to win. She has sent her last gift in a desperate hope that her boy will know what to do. His win would mean the world for District 4. In her booth watching the last heartbeats of the Games, she folds her hands together so tight her nails dig red half-moons into her palms._

_Thomas Thistledare watches the son of his enemy as he scrambles away from the girl's deadly bullets. In his Games, brute strength triumphed over intelligence. These Games are so very different. He wanted Adriana to win to spite his district and punish Mayor Maris. And he wants the boy to die now, tantalizingly close to life. Mags is hunched over from the tension, but Thomas is ramrod straight. He understands now why Old Lady Harbinger cursed the people of District 4._

"_Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final showdown of the First Quarter Quell!"_


	30. Chapter 26

Time swirled around Atticus as the copper penny winked up at him. In a daze, he saw Juno, venturing out from the cover of the trees, slowly loading an arrow. He gulped air in frantically.

And then he noticed that the earth was shaking. It wasn't just his extreme fatigue, the ground was rumbling, the trees were rippling, and the tracks—the train tracks were vibrating.

Atticus looked at the penny, so bright and hopeful in his hand.

Juno's arrow pierced through his blurry thoughts, and Atticus slammed to the ground, tasting blood as he accidently bit his tongue. He scrambled to his feet, thoughts racing faster than his heart. He'd spent enough time watching that he knew that when the tracks started trembling, it was two minutes until the train arrived.

If it would still arrive in its full splendor. Atticus didn't know the effects that the fire had on it.

Another arrow sang by and Atticus leapt to the other sides of the tracks. He had to lure Juno out here. She definitely wasn't stupid enough to stand in the middle of the tracks, but maybe…

The world came into sharp focus, as Atticus knelt down on the train tracks. He straightened quickly, dodging the next arrows and trying his best to ignore the searing pain in his ankle and arm. How long could he keep this desperate dance up? He didn't have much time—the train would be coming soon. _Come out, come out, Juno, _he thought.

Atticus reached into his knapsack and pulled out a knife. He waved it towards the trees.

"Coward! Don't just hide in the trees! Come out and fight!" He swayed, not knowing how much longer his ankle could take his weight.

The leaves rustled as Juno emerged, her blonde hair, no longer pristine, flowing down her back. Atticus had thought she would come. The Games were hers, he was half-dead, and she could show her skills to Panem.

Juno selected a long-bladed knife, and held it up, sunlight sparking off the wicked blade. She smiled. Atticus, counting the seconds until the train would arrive, held up his own knife in response.

Juno, still unblemished by seventeen days in the Games, ran smoothly onto the tracks to meet him. Her ice blue eyes were perfectly calm. The goddess was claiming her throne.

Atticus knew he could not possibly hold his own in a knife fight with her, not even for a few heartbeats. Nonetheless, hoping against the laws of the universe, he aimed his own blade towards her.

A frown creased Juno's lovely features as she felt the rumbling beneath her feet. She leapt, doe-like, on the opposite sides of the tracks from Atticus to avoid the train. Atticus had no time to think what he would do if his plan wouldn't work. He just gaped at the train smearing by.

Then, there was an awful screech of metal as the train tumbled off the tracks. Fire soared up, and Atticus stumbled away from the crash, feeling the heat nipping at his back. Finally, half-dragging his broken body, he collapsed against the tree-line.

A single cannon fired amidst the fiery ruins of the train.

It had worked, Atticus realized numbly. The penny Mags had sent, placed at the perfect place at the perfect angle, was enough to send the train tumbling from its tracks right into Juno. The goddess had fallen.

Darkness crowded his gaze as blood loss and excruciating pain threatened to overwhelm him. _No, _Atticus thought fiercely. _I will stay awake and mourn for my competitor._

He blinked furiously at the sparking ruins. He couldn't quite process what had happened. How a single penny had saved his life. And Juno was dead. He knew that from the moment her name was called, Juno knew that she was going to be the winner. And he knew that Juno hadn't realized that a train was coming for her until she was dead.

She wasn't evil. Just wickedly smart and fatefully proud. And in the end, a pawn of the Capitol.

The dead girl's face shone in the sky, and Atticus could feel her blue eyes boring into his very soul.

And then, Flavia Flint—_damn that woman—_cleared her throat, the sound echoing around the arena for the single tribute to hear.

"Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the victor of the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games, Atticus Maris of District 4!"

He would stay awake, until the very end.

**Thanks to all the wonderful reviewers! My story's still not over yet (I think there will be at least one more chapter), so if you post a review with your favorite character, I will give you a shout-out in my last chapter. :)**


	31. Chapter 27

Everything was over. He was in the hovercraft again, soaring away from the hellish arena and twenty-three dead children. And himself. He was no longer Atticus Maris, the mayor's son, cherished and coddled. That boy was dead. He was something else, birthed after seventeen days of excruciating labor. He was a victor.

Atticus watched the arena grow smaller and smaller, until he could hold in the palm of his hand and crumble it up. The worst part was knowing that he wasn't an accidental victor. He'd killed Polus and the District 8 boy and Juno. The Games had twisted his core, turned him from an ordinary boy into a killer.

And yet, he was strangely calm. All he knew was that he had to go on. Soon, the hovercraft would drop him off and he'd see Mags and Thomas and Xenia and Augustus. And he would peel off the past seventeen days and put on a mask and tell the Capitol how happy he was that twenty-three children had died.

Atticus stared defiantly into the blinding bright lights. Rufus Magnolia was beaming next to him, his hair an unnatural shade of orange.

"I'm Rufus Magnolia, and this is the victor of the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games, Atticus Maris of District 4!"

From the blur of faces, a smattering of applause arose. Atticus pitied them, confections of the Capitol, where artificiality ruled and plastic replaced emotions.

"So, Atticus," Rufus said, adjusting his bow tie, "first, I'd like to offer my congratulations."

The crowd cheered in sheep-like agreement.

"Thank you," Atticus said. He adjusted his steel rimmed glasses. He was considerably fonder of them after the Games.

"Well, I think I can say on behalf of the audience that this was one hell of a Game! What did you think of the arena?"

Atticus cleared his throat. "I thought it was quite interesting and rather unique. The train was a stroke of genius." He winked, feeling completely awkward, but the crowd laughed.

Rufus chuckled. "We can tell, Mr. Maris. I can tell you that I was holding my breath when you boarded that train! How did you feel?"

Atticus thought it would not be a good idea to say that he was just praying it worked. "Calm. I'd watched the train go by enough to know that I could board it safely at that spot. And it worked, so I was most pleased."

His suit reminded him of Adriana's interview dress—shades of grey like the belly of a storm cloud. He could only imagine her sneering response to this trite interview. Felix, however, would be using this as an opportunity to catch the eye of some pretty Capitol lady. But tributes from District 12 never won.

"And do you have any words to say to your district, seeing as they were not expecting you to survive?"

He had a new persona now to match his victor status. At this interview, he knew what to say. "Why, yes, I do. You may not have expected me to survive, but I did more than survive—I conquered. This marks the dawn of a new era for District 4. We shall conquer."

The sheep bleated their appreciation.

"Anything else?"

Atticus knew what he wanted to say. "I'm happy to be going home."

The train ride back was heavenly and torturous, infinitely long and unbelievably short. Wild thoughts danced through Atticus' head. He darted from the thought of seeing his father to Juno's mangled body at the end to the majestic power of the train to the roar of the ocean to his own death. Because Atticus was dead, as surely as Adriana and Felix and Iri and Polus and Julius and Sparrow and Juno. He was mechanical, hollow, dully seeing the world through the train window.

Augustus tried to talk to him. Atticus knew that it had been so long since he'd had a victor that he didn't know what to do. Mags and Thomas were probably happy they were alive. Atticus wasn't happy. Just empty. So Augustus left, his golden wig drooping.

Next Mags talked to him. She told him what it would mean for the district, how happy his father was, how proud she was. She was a Career. She took pride in her victory. Atticus didn't want to be happy. He didn't deserve to survive anymore that Felix or Adriana had deserved to die. He didn't want to be a hero.

After that, Atticus was left alone with the scenery swirling outside the train window and his own twisted thoughts.

When the train pulled into District 4, the people swarmed around the train, lifting his name up reverently. _You would never think that they wanted me dead, _Atticus thought caustically. He wished Adriana was here, if only to tell the people exactly what she thought of them.

Atticus raised his arm in greeting, and the people screamed in joy. And then he turned away from the window, seeking out the one person who might understand what he felt.

"Thomas?"

He was standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, head cocked to one side. Atticus felt a surge of rage as he surveyed him.

"Are you upset? I survived, didn't I? Dammit, that's the only thing I can actually do. Survive and watch everybody else die around me. And you wish Adriana won, don't you, because she's as angry and bitter as you. Except she actually speaks her mind. Well, I wish she'd won, too! Then maybe someone would be happy!"

He stood, shaking like the ground just before the train's arrival. Thomas stood, immovable as a mountain, and Atticus wanted to throw him out the window, watch him fall and turn into a bloody mess.

When Thomas spoke, Atticus' rage subsided like the tide, leaving him devastatingly empty inside. He didn't want to kill Thomas. He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.

"I'm glad you're alive."

Atticus stared outside the window, listening to the muffled thunder of the crowd.

"It's worse. What I live with. You're dead inside, but you have to keep walking and talking and pretending. But your father will know you are dead, and that is a just punishment for a man who should be dead himself."

And then Thomas turned and opened the door, unleashing the animal-like screams of the crowd. Atticus watched him go. Strangely, he felt better that Thomas had said his piece. Every festering and rotting secret was out in the air now.

As Thomas left, Atticus thought he heard him say, "It's always the innocent that suffer, isn't it?" But with the roar of the crowd, he couldn't be quite sure. It was just a foolish hope, another twist of the Games.

**Sorry it took so long to update. I was on vacation and our hotel had no Wi-Fi. It was incredibly devastating, although I had fun otherwise. I thought this would be the last chapter, but there will be one more later today.**


	32. Chapter 28

**So this actually is the last chapter. For anyone who's interested, it's 82 pages and 28060 words in 11pt single spaced Century Gothic.**

**Also, my inspiration first came with the train. I was half-asleep in my bed, knowing that my alarm clock would soon go off, and I thought, **_**what if there was a train in the Hunger Games? **_**And then I figured something so special would belong in a Quarter Quell, so it would have to be the first one (how exciting!), and the characters slowly followed. I was aiming for a 19****th**** century Western theme, that's why I made the duel take place at high noon. :) Anyways, here is the (very short) epilogue to Atticus' story. But there will be a sequel at some point. And maybe some other stuff…**

"Atticus!"

And Atticus broke away from the train station at the edge of the crowd, dashing across the square into the arms of his father. He wouldn't, couldn't play the role of the hardened victor anymore.

His father's arms encircled him, and Atticus smelled the familiar scents of sea salt and cologne. And then he pulled back and looked into his father's eyes, eyes as blue as the sea on a bright summer day, eyes as blue as the wide open sky, eyes the color of the sea glass in his pocket.

His father was so old now.

His hair, before, a rich chestnut brown, was bleached a stark and fragile white. Wrinkles slashed down his face. Even his eyes seemed like the eyes of an old, old man.

Atticus knew that his father, also, was dead.

He waved to the crowd once, as he knew he should, then turned away with his father to go home. There would be other times for grand speeches and heartfelt messages, other times for feasts and dancing, other times to celebrate his triumph. And there would be other Hunger Games, stretching an infinite distance into the future.

But Atticus had survived and endured and won and lost. And he knew his journey in the Games was far from over. He was determined not to forget the aching loss of the Games, hide it under a suffocating blanket of alcohol or drugs, but remember it, day by agonizing day. That's what he owed to twenty-three cast out children. That's what he owed to his father.

But for now, Atticus was content to walk with his father, both men supporting each other up the stairs into the golden house filled with the constant hushing of the ocean.

**Thanks so much to all who subscribed/reviewed. Shoutouts to:**

**KirihaTheChibi (I do a happy dance whenever I read your reviews)**

**cynicz (my first reviewer!)**

**mavromurph (glad you enjoyed the arena, I did too :)**

**Tigerhuski (Everyone likes Felix, don't they? And yes, I will have another story soon)**

**MarigoldxObsidian (I really appreciated your reviews along the way)**

**ClamKidToTheRescue (Glad you enjoyed my story! And another Felix fan :)**

**Wendy Brune (Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews)**

**(Sorry for the long author notes…)**


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